


Rodeo and Ranch

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Series: Rodeo and Ranch [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Bull Riding, Bull fighter, Bull rider, Bull riders, Bull-fighting, Bull-riding, M/M, POV First Person, Rodeo clown, Trowa POV, ranch, rodeo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 61,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: Rodeo clown Trowa Barton falls hard for a bull rider named Duo Maxwell...PLEASE SEE THE NOTES FOR DISCLAIMERS and WARNINGS





	1. Shinigami

**Author's Note:**

> There are and will be other (background) pairings, but this fic is Trowa/Duo-centric ALL THE WAY.
> 
> I HAVE NO FIRSTHAND EXPERIENCE WITH RODEOS. Let's just get that out of the way first and foremost.
> 
> SETTING: This story begins in the early 90’s (back in the days when glamour still overrode safety).
> 
> CLOTHING/GEAR: These days, a lot of bull riders wear protective head gear like safety helmets. Not so in this fic.
> 
> BULLFIGHTERS: Also, rodeo clowns are now called “bullfighters” (as they should be — that is what their job is really about) but for the sake of series parallels, they will be referred to as “rodeo clowns” (sometimes “safety men/people/staff”). My research amounts to watching video clips on YouTube of bull riding and some recent close calls and amazing work by bullfighters.
> 
> RODEOS: Drawing from sporting events that I'm more familiar with, I made up the local and championship-level competition rodeo scoring system (keeping them purposefully vague). I have only a rough understanding of the rodeo “season,” which I believe runs from spring through the fall. Also, there are often events for all ages (including children/young adults) and livestock shows, but this story focuses exclusively on bull riding.
> 
> This fic’s particular rodeo (Bloom’s Rodeo) does not travel the country. (In fact, I don't even assign it a city; I want it to feel like a no-man's land or limbo for Duo and Trowa.) In this fic, the traveling part comes later when the top bull riders go on a circuit tour around the country before the championship event. Fun tid-bit: the bull riders at Bloom’s Rodeo are allowed to choose a “theme song” for their intros before each ride. Threw that in just for shits and giggles. (And also because I have a thing for dancer!Trowa — but not all rodeo clowns/bullfighters in real life put on performances for the crowd.)
> 
> I’m drawing rodeo-culture from vague recollections of the film, “8 Seconds” (1994) and the fiction novel, “When Legends Die” by Hal Borland. On a side note: Tami Hoag wrote a suspense/romance/UST-turned-smut-fest novel called “Dark Paradise” which deals with some of the themes that affect Duo’s family (not the suspense, het romance, UST, or smut — believe it or not, there are other themes in the novel and those are what I’m referring to).
> 
> RODEO SPONSORS: I have no information on the “business” (or commercial) side of bull-riding in the 90s, so I’m exaggerating that to suit my purposes.
> 
> ANIMALS: Many people consider bull riding (and other rodeo events) to be cruel to the animals. This is not an issue that I present in this story in detail, but I completely respect that point of view. Some animal handling techniques mentioned here are (flagrant) exaggerations. I know a little bit about large domesticated animals from personal experience (and trust me when I tell you that “domesticated” does not equate to “safe”).
> 
> RANCHING: Ranching is also an aspect of this story (later on) and I will warn you now: most animals are raised for slaughter. This is not presented in detail, but animals are spoken of as if they are consumer products and not sentient creatures with complex social needs. Though I write about the “business” of ranching, that does not mean I necessarily endorse its exploitation of living creatures.
> 
> CHARACTERIZATION: Duo’s drawl is not indicative of everyone (or anyone in particular) in the state or city he comes from (which I visited briefly in the winter of 1999). I just really wanted to torture Trowa with a soft, sexy accent from Duo.
> 
> CHARACTERS: “Sal” is not meant to be a male version of Sally Po, nor is “Chris” intended to be a male version of the female character from the series. Both are OCs. But Ralph may be a legitimate GW character; a former merc who once worked with Nanashi and then later tries to recruit him... maybe?
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: This story would not exist without Clara Barton’s casual mention of “8 Seconds” on Tumblr or Ry’s completely devious Skype flailing over a rodeo AU with me. I will do my best to point out all the amazing ideas that are Not Mine as they come up. 
> 
> WARNINGS: bad language (obviously), male/male sex (and references thereto), injuries incurred from dealing with bulls  
> ADDITIONAL WARNINGS WILL BE POSTED AT THE TOP OF THE RELEVANT CHAPTER(S)  
> PROMISES: no tragic main character death, no outright NCS, no explicit gore
> 
> Background writing music: “Wanted” by Hunter Hayes (ignore the “girl” references, but the makeup aspect could apply *smirk*)
> 
> Songs mentioned in the narrative:  
> “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor  
> “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osborne  
> “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC  
> “Walk This Way” by Aerosmith  
> “Paint It Black” by The Rolling Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music Rec: “Second Chances” by Morgan Clamp

Howard’s new guy sauntered into the stock pen area and I hated him on sight.  After seven years of working for my uncle, George Bloom, as a rodeo clown, I knew what a good bull rider was supposed to look like.  Medium height, slender build with strong arms and shoulders.  Muscular legs.  Quick on his feet.  Solid center of gravity.

As the new guy strode over the churned up turf, dodging cow patties and road apples with effortless ease, I knew this mystery rider was going to be good.

The riders that Howard managed were always good.  Didn’t mean they weren’t complete dickheads, though.

And this guy — __this__ guy with his wide smile and perfect teeth, his big, pretty eyes and long, brown braid of hair — __this__  guy in his black spangly chaps, black skin-tight Western-cut shirt, and black Stetson hat was going to make my life hell.  The shooters always did.  They never looked twice at the safety staff despite the fact that we’d be the ones coming between the unseated rider and 2,000 pounds of pure rage that was after a piece of the cocky fucker who’d had the nerve to climb up onto his back.  We stuck our necks out — and our rodeo hero went right on smiling his mega-watt smile — without so much as a thank-you.

It was always the same old fucking story.

I sighed and turned away, resigning myself to the fact that I was going to loathe my job for the next nine months.  Or the next six-and-a-half if this guy was any good and ended up on the championship circuit.  Maybe less if he broke an arm.  God damn, but I’d wanted this to be a good year.  It wasn’t going to be, though.  All because of this cocky, stuck-up, walking wet dream.

“Hey, excuse me.  Don’ mean to bother y’all when you’re gettin’ ready…”

Ralph elbowed me and I belatedly realized that the voice was aimed in our direction.  I looked over my shoulder and there he was.  Howard’s latest drop-dead-gorgeous, sex-on-two-legs, bull-riding champ-wanna-be was holding out his hand for Sal to shake, looking Sal right in the eyes.  Through the layers of face paint and everything.

“Duo Maxwell,” he said and waited politely for Sal to offer his own name.  Then, wonder of wonders, he made an effort to remember it: “Sal Montgomery.  Pleasure to meet you.  Thanks for goin’ in there with me.”

Ralph was next and that was good because I was having a hard time believing that this was happening.  The showy ones never gave a rat’s ass about the clowns.  But this guy — was his given name really “Duo”? — was looking at the four of us with respect bordering on admiration.

Then he was holding out his bare, callused hand for me to take.  I didn’t want to.  I really didn’t want to.  It was easier if the guy was a self-serving chauvinist like Zechs Merquise who couldn’t be bothered to remember how many rodeo clowns there were let alone our names.

The hand was still hovering in front of me and now all the safety guys — Sal, Ralph, and Chris — were staring.

Duo Maxwell grinned.  It was shy and sweet and fuck all if he didn’t have a dimple on his right cheek.  “’s all right if you don’ shake hands, but I’m thinkin’ Ralph’s not contagious.”

“Just wait ‘til you get to know ‘im,” Chris said with a smug grin, reaching around me to punch Ralph in the shoulder.

The hand was still there and it wasn’t going away anytime soon.  I reached out and accepted my fate.  “Trowa Barton,” I said, thankful that my voice was steady despite the butterflies in my belly.

“Trowa Barton,” he repeated and his drawl caressed my name like warm lips over flushed skin.  “I’m lookin’ real forward to workin’ with you.  Stay safe in the arena.”

But it was outside of it where I was in the most danger.  From him.  From his kind, blue eyes and honest face.  Oh, God was I fucked.

I managed a nod and he released my hand, turned toward Chris.  Warm and appreciative and sincere.

“Good luck, fellas!” Duo Maxwell said with a wave goodbye and went to go line up for the draw.

“You, too!” Ralph called.  Then quietly said, “Jesus, he’s too nice.”

“Them bulls are gonna eat him alive,” Sal agreed.

“Let’s hope he don’t draw Shinigami on his first ride,” Chris added.

He drew Shinigami, the black-as-sin ball of pure hatred with horns.  I just about puked.

“Trowa, you all right?”

“Fine, Chris,” I said even though I wasn’t.  “Let’s get in there.  Crowd’s waiting.”

“Yeah,” Sal agreed.  “Waitin’ to see you dance.”

“You’re our big hit,” Ralph teased.

I appreciated that they were trying to help me get my head in the game, I truly did.  But—

“Hey, we’re all worried about Duo,” Ralph admitted.

“Let’s help him have a good ride.”

“Keep ‘im safe.”

“So you can ask ‘im out later.”

“Yeah-hah!  Once he sees you dance, ain’t no way he’ll turn you down.”

I barked, “Shut your yaps already.”

“Ooh, you called it, Sal.  Our boy’s got himself a crush.”

I growled and swung myself up onto the fence.  I was beyond irritated that I’d been so damn transparent, but thanks to their ribbing, the ball of dread in my belly was burning me up instead of weighing me down.

The other guys tumbled into the arena and I hung back to get things going with a little daredevil action.  I balanced on the top of the fence, walked it like a tightrope.  Little by little, the audience noticed.

When we had their attention, Sal started chucking overripe apples at me.  Now, Sal had been a pitcher on his little league team, so these weak underhanded throws were not even close to what he could do.  Hell, I’d seen him throw a horseshoe right through the windshield of a brand new Dodge Ram extended cab pickup truck and the thing had lodged in the headrest.  So this was all for show.

So was my routine as I wiggled to the left, dodged to the right, did a cartwheel, and then performed a comical slip in slow motion — windmilling arms included.  Chris and Ralph caught me in a fireman’s carry.

The crowd applauded.

A soft apple bonked me on the head.

The crowd laughed.

I pointed an accusing finger at Sal and was promptly carried over to face him.  I grabbed his neck.  He sank down and Chris and Ralph lifted me up and I did a handstand on his shoulders.  Clicked my heels together in midair.  Then pushed off and landed with a flourish.

Sal, Chris, and Ralph posed with me to the applause of the packed stands.  There were lots of rodeos, but ours — Bloom’s Rodeo — was known for the floor show.  The four of us worked on routines like circus performers would.  There was tip jar for us at the rodeo entrance and, by the end of the night, it was always full.

But we knew that the customers didn’t pay the entrance fee to see just us.  The event that was up this afternoon was the main attraction.  The bull ride.

Which meant it was time to exchange my soft-soled acrobat’s shoes for my boots.

My throat squeezed shut as my uncle greeted the crowd over the screechy PA system, and I held my breath wondering if Duo Maxwell was going to be the first one out of the chute.

He wasn’t.  The opening strains of “Eye of the Tiger” – Brett Meuller’s theme song of choice this year – blasted into the arena.  The relief was stunning.  Even if Mueller himself was a complete waste of space.

Sal, Chris, and Ralph moved from one strong man pose to another with each strum of the electric guitar.  I waited for the beat and then did a little dance for the crowd.  From a distance, I was sure we looked like we were having a good time, but all four of us were watching the chute, moving closer and taking up our positions.  The music cut off.  Silence echoed through the arena.

Bang!

The door swung open.  Beast-and-rider erupted out.  Hooves flying as the pale, speckled bull twisted and spun.

We kept an eye on the animal’s rhythm and speed and another eye on the rider: his gloved hand where he grasped the rope rigging that spanned the animal’s girth and his booted feet which could get tangled up in an unlucky, loose cord.  I’d seen riders get thrown forward (a dislocated shoulder if they were lucky), get their hand twisted up (a broken wrist), or get themselves pulled down and dragged (a concussion, broken ribs, fractured pelvis or worse).

This time, none of that happened.

Meuller was thrown before the eight-second buzzer sounded, but Chris was already moving in to catch the animal’s eye.  As Mueller pulled himself up over the fence and to safety, I darted in front and the bull took two steps in my direction before Sal got in the animal’s face and led him off.  A horse cantered in and a lasso from one of the pick up men caught the bull’s horns.  The stock gate opened.  Within moments, the arena was cleared.

The pick up man let the handlers take over.  Then he grabbed a new coil of rope, trotted his horse back to position in the far half of the arena, and held up his hand to show he was ready.

Sal, Ralph, Chris, and I were good to go.  Up next was some brainless show-off named Lance Alecks.  I did a couple of cheesy hip thrusts to his choice of music, “Crazy Train.”  Ralph, with his raggedy Andy wig-and-hat, supplied the headbanging.

The crowd loved it, but we kept our focus on the chute.  Just in case the door opened before the music cut out.  It’d never happened before, but there was a first time for everything.

It didn’t happen today.

Alecks finished his ride — with points taken for having to use both hands — and then “Highway to Hell” started up.  Fucking Zechs Merquise was next.  I hated him just enough to put some real swagger in my moves.  Sal jumped around like a maniac and Chris played the air guitar until the music cut and we all had to fight our inclinations to just let the asshole get trampled by his ride.

It was doubly sickening that the jerkwad was an incredible rider despite being so tall.  It was almost like he could pilot the bulls.  Unbelievable.  Almost as unbelievable as the size of his ego.

The chute banged open and out came Merquise on a brown-and-white bull that spun and kicked one way, then swung back the other, over and over.  We all kept our eyes open for trouble.  There wasn’t any.

The buzzer sounded and Merquise kicked his way free, landed solidly, and threw up his arms in victory.  Completely ignored the fact that the bull was chasing Chris over to the wall.  Ralph cut the animal off.  I shot in and swerved toward the open stock gate.  The bull took the hint and galloped out of the arena without further fuss.

So far, it was turning out to be a quiet show.  Except for the fact that some poor bastard had drawn Shinigami.  I tried not to think about who that was.

“—a new face from Bozeman, Montana.  Duo Maxwell!”

Oh, fuck.

And then the opening drumbeats to “Walk This Way” blasted out of the speakers.  We didn’t have anything choreographed for this one, so we fell back on a generic square-dance that made the audience laugh.

The music cut.

I forced myself to suck down a breath.  Crouched low and poised to move fast.

BANG!

Out they came, a blur of rage and midnight.  Duo’s braid whipped out behind him as he sat deep in his seat, his hips following the animal’s every move.  The bull’s rear feet bucked high over my head as he spun and snorted.  Shinigami angled his horns for Duo’s legs, but Duo was stuck to that animal’s back like he’d been glued on.  His posture was perfect — up and down, spine rolling with every lurch — the bull twisted left, then right, but Duo was—

Fucking amazing.

The buzzer sounded.

Duo tossed his hat out toward the center of the arena as he kicked himself free, landed just as neatly as Merquise had, but he wasn’t fucking around with a victory salute.  He got his smart ass headed over to the wall and, for a second, it looked like the bull was going to go for the dropped hat.

But then Shinigami spun around 180-degrees and went straight for Duo.

Chris was closer, but I was faster.  I got right in front of Shinigami’s snout, felt his snot smear across the front of my yellow-and-green tunic, and I kept on running, hearing the sound of hooves pounding into the dirt behind me.  I leaped up onto the wall as Sal caught Shinigami’s attention.  Then Ralph and Chris and, by that time, the pick up men had moved in and were herding the frustrated animal over to the stock gate.

It was over.

The crowd was roaring.

I glanced back toward the chute to see what kind of ride-ender Duo was using — a wave, a bow, a touchdown dance, or all of the above, but he wasn’t doing any of those things.  He was grinning in my direction, applauding.  Then he pointed right at me, let out a whoop, and threw his hands up over his head to clap some more, leading the audience in a round of applause until Chris came over and punched me in the leg.

“Take a bow, you crazy asshole!”

I bowed.

Duo’s dark eyes sparkled with approval, then he slid out of sight.

Damn.

Shaken, I slid down from the wall and got back to work.

When all was said and done, Duo came out ahead of Zechs Merquise in points, and it was clear Merquise didn’t think it would last as he sanctimoniously congratulated the new guy from Montana, but Duo just shook his hand and gave him a charming grin.

All the riders gathered in the arena and waved to their fans — friends, family, and otherwise.  I withdrew to look after the animals.  This was the side of the rodeo that people didn’t normally see: handlers and safety staff feeding and watering the livestock alongside the rodeo vet after a show.

The sun set and I could see the lights over by the fairgrounds.  Could hear country music and laughter.  The Long family ran the cantina — a humble bar and grill; they were always busy on a bull ride night.

I looked down at the streak of crusty mucus across the front of my costume.  What did it say about me that I preferred spending the night cleaning this up to joining tonight’s festivities?

It said I’d do anything to avoid seeing Duo Maxwell surrounded by beautiful women.  That’s what it said.

Sal, Chris, and Ralph were long gone — probably two celebratory beers down — by the time I ran out of excuses to walk the aisles between the stock pens and I started out across the packed-dirt parking lot.  I was just coming up on my camper truck — a tiny, grumpy-as-goose-shit box on four wheels — when I heard someone call my name.

“Trowa!  Hey, Trowa!”

Oh, God.  What was he doing here, keeping all those gorgeous cowgirls waiting?  I stopped and turned.

His hat was missing and his braid had been loosened up.  Several fly-aways caressed his cheeks in the night breeze.  He was still decked out in all black and I had no idea how I was going to say a word to him when my tongue felt so big and dry and stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“Fella, you were amazin’ today!  I owe you a steak dinner.”

His genuine enthusiasm floored me.  I somehow said, “Just a normal day at the office.”

He smiled.  Dimpled.  Oh, fuck me.

He gleefully pointed out, “You saved my ass.”

And what an ass it was.  I’d had every intention of spending the rest of the night cleaning the cow snot off of my shirt and thinking about his ass, his hips, his twisting spine.

“Can I buy you a beer?”

I almost said yes.  But the image of him throwing an arm over my shoulders, walking us into that bar, and clinking glasses with me only to let buxom cowgirls pull him onto the dance floor was too much.  “No,” I said, perhaps too sharply.  “Thanks.”

“Eh, well,” he easily accepted — too easily, God damn him — and shrugged.  “At least let me get your shirt cleaned for you.”

I blinked.  Stared.  The whine of a pedal steel guitar swelled in the distance.

“What?” he barked.

“That’s a first.”

The grin was back.  “No shit?”  He held out his hand.

For one crazy instant, I thought he was asking me to dance.  “What are you doing?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Waitin’ on you.  Your shirt, Trowa,” he explained in response to my blank look.

I hastily pulled it up over my head to hide the shiver I felt when he said my name.

“This got tags?” he asked of the garment now in his grasp.

“Handmade,” I answered.

“Girlfriend?” he checked.

“Cousin,” I told him.  “Cathy Bloom, barrel racer.  We’re cousins.”

“Family,” he summed up in a tone that was too heavy to be just wistful.  “That’s nice.”  He looked me over and the wind decided to remind me that my torso was covered in nothing but a ribbed tank top.  “This you?” he asked, nodding at the camper.

I nodded.

“Well, get on inside.  It’s cold out.”  He turned away, my clown tunic draped over his arm.  Numb from the surreal conversation, I grabbed for the door handle.

“Oh, an’ Trowa!”

I paused, glanced over my shoulder to see him walking backwards between parked cars.

“I still owe you that beer an’ steak dinner!”

I waved and then I hid in my camper, which I cleaned from top to bottom as I thought about his smile and narrow hips and the way he said my name.

It wasn’t until I’d moved on to cleaning the accordion-sized bathroom that I looked in the mirror and realized I was still wearing my clown makeup.

“Fuck me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back on it, I guess I could say that clean-freak!Trowa came from my Two Out of Three series, but to be perfectly honest, I’d completely forgotten about having written that aspect of him. I credit Ry’s headcanon for this particular Trowa who finds solace in scrubbing dusty corners.
> 
> Also, just to clarify: 
> 
> Howard is Duo's manager. (I have no idea if "Howard" is his first name or last name. I'm guessing it's his first name. Maybe his last name is something like Zobreigneufritzhuey or something completely unpronounceable so he just goes by his first name in business.) *le shrug* 
> 
> Trowa's uncle, George Bloom (the owner of Bloom's Rodeo), is the circus manager from the series. (Unfortunately, as the circus manager was never given a name, I gave him one in this fic.)


	2. Poker Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “After You” by Meg Myers

“Fuck me,” I groaned, dropping my face into my hands, hating my life just a little more than I had five minutes ago.

“You are not my type,” Wufei informed me from the neighboring seat at the bar.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” I grumbled, trying to ignore the ruckus as Duo and no less than six giggling, enamored cowgirls stomped their way over to a table.

“What can I get you ladies to drink?” Duo drawled and I could __hear__ the sexy, crooked, fucking dimpled smile in his voice.

Wufei assessed the newcomers, turned back around, and said, “I’d ask what you want, but I think I can guess.”

“Shut up.”

He arched a brow at me.  “So what are you drinking?”

I considered leaving.  It was a good idea: just get up and walk out.  Wufei could find another time or place for my sympathetic ear to listen to his woes.

“Barton?” he prompted and I just didn’t have it in me to make him beg.  Not today.  Not with the object of my acute interest only half a room away.  Besides, I hadn’t seen Duo anywhere around the fairgrounds for the past three days.  And I’d looked.  Like a stalker.  My fascination with him was not healthy.

“Something cheap and suicidal,” I directed and sighed in resignation at the shot of Jack Daniels that Meiran Chang slapped down in front of me.

“Cheer up, Barton,” she said.  “He never takes any of them back to his trailer with him.”

“That you’ve noticed,” I muttered petulantly.

She shrugged.  It wasn’t as if Maxwell-tracking was __her__  full-time hobby.  She had better things to do with her free time.

Duo walked up to the bar.  Stood next to me.  The fabric of our sleeves brushed.  He placed the orders he’d collected and then turned around, leaning back on his elbows and looking right at me.

“Hey, Trowa.  Rough day at the office?”

Ah.  He’d noted my not-choice of drink.  I shrugged.

“I hear you, fella.”  A pause and then he spoke past me.  “Wufei!  How’s business?”

“Good, thanks to you.”

Duo chuckled and I watched my hands curl into fists.

Wufei continued, “Just keep on beating Merquise like you’ve been doing.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”  And then I felt his attention on me.  “So, I owe you no less than ten steak dinners by my reckonin’.  Are you savin’ ‘em up to trade in for a Camaro?”

I looked up.  That was a mistake.  His eyes.  Smile.  Dimple.  Him and me in the reclining front seats, the windows steaming up and my fingers wrapped around his cock as he groaned hotly against my neck, his tongue brushing my skin.  “I might be,” I said.

His grin widened.  “Well, you know where to find me.”  Meiran prodded him with a tray laden with full glasses and he took it from her with practiced ease.  In the weeks — months, now — since he’d joined the rodeo, Duo Maxwell had had no shortage of chances to ferry drinks from the bar to his beautiful, female admirers.

“Later, fellas.”

I counted it as a victory that I did not watch him walk away.

“You poor bastard,” Wufei concluded.

I took a drink of bourbon.  Winced, splashed a bit of water into it, and took another sip.  “I didn’t come here to talk about me,” I reminded him.

He sighed.  “Yes, well.”

I took a closer look at him.  “Business __isn’t__  going well?”

Wufei Chang had come all the way here from China to marry the daughter of a family friend.  Neither he nor Meiran had been thrilled with the situation and neither seemed inclined to make the marriage work.  Wufei had immediately focused on sending money home to pay for the care of his ailing parents, but he’d soon realized that there wasn’t much cash to go around when the Long family business was tied up in rodeo food service.  So he’d started taking bets on the events.  He was smart enough to keep it lowkey, and the upset Duo’s arrival had caused was netting him a tidy sum.  Or, at least, it should have been.

“Business is good,” he insisted.

“Don’t tell me I’m here so you can talk about your marriage.”  In front of his wife, while she tended bar.

“Not at all.  She’s very happy with Cathy.  And I’m happy for her.”

I let out a long breath, thankful that I wouldn’t be asked to deliver some sort of ultimatum to my cousin.  Sewing clown costumes and barrel racing were the least of her formidable talents.  “So…?”

“Have you met any of the bronc riders?”

I blinked at him.  He arched a brow.  The penny dropped.  I smirked.  “A few.”

“How about Yuy?”

My smirk widened into a shit-eating grin.  “Yeah.  We’ve met.”  We’d first bumped into each other last year in front of a Marlboro Man poster.

“Is that a new one?” I’d asked.

“Sure looks like it,” he’d answered.

We’d shared a look, shaken hands, and returned to appreciating the model.

Heero had offered, “A little too rugged for my taste.”

I’d shrugged.  “Not a big fan of the squint, myself.”

And then we’d gone on about our business.  I still bumped into him in front of attractive posters from time to time.  Neither one of us had ever made an effort to get inside each other’s pants, but we knew.  If you know what I mean.

When I didn’t warn Wufei off, he hissed, “Well, do you even know if he might be interested?”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m a rodeo clown, not a mind reader,” I said, maybe just a little too loudly thanks to the Jack.  “How the hell am I supposed to know if Yuy’s interested?”

“Yuy?  Heero Yuy?”

A drumbeat of dread thudded in my chest and then fell like lead into the pit of stomach.  I leaned around and met Duo Maxwell’s slightly-inebriated gaze.

“He’s one o’ the bronc riders, right?”  I nodded dumbly.  “You an’ Heero, huh?  Boy, I wish I could help you out there.  Maybe I could ask him for you?”

It took me a moment to realize that Duo was talking about setting me up.  “What?  No, I—”

“’Cuz I owe you,” he continued, very earnestly.  “An’ if Yuy doesn’ appreciate the offer, I will be happy to kick his ass.”

Wufei hurdled over my tangible shock to ask, “What makes you say that?”

Duo snorted and rolled his eyes.  “Please.  Trowa here is a fine specimen o’ man.  Yuy’d have to be a straight idiot to turn him down.  Meiran!  Hey, lovely.  Could I get another round for the ladies an’ three shots o’ Wild Turkey here at the bar, please?”

I gaped.  Did Duo think that I was… hot?  And that I wanted… Yuy?

I turned and glared at Wufei, who looked damn sorry about this but kept his mouth shut.  Of course he did.  Duo was sponsored by people with money.  One careless comment and someone might just blab to someone in the government who had an ax to grind with immigrants.  I’d lost track of how many times I’d overheard or been subjected to a variation of the popular rant: the Chinese and Mexicans were stealing jobs from honest, hard-working Americans and the whole lot of them ought to be banned from setting foot on U.S. soil.  I’d even known itinerant workers — whole families — who’d been hired by my uncle and then forced to move on less than a year later.

One silly, stupid rumor and, that easily, Wufei’s green card could be on the line.

Meiran set the shots down in front of us with excessive force and a pointed look.

But what was I supposed to say?  Duo wasn’t an idiot; if I denied interest in Yuy, then he would figure out that Chang had been the one asking about him.  The wedding band on Wufei’s ring finger winked, laughing at us.

Duo’s warm hand landed on my shoulder and it took everything I had in me not to stand up, crowd him back against the bar, and kiss him until he came with a helpless moan in those tight, black jeans.

He picked up his glass.  “Trowa, Wufei, this is for you.  Two great guys who’ve been my people here.  Cheers and good luck.”

Wufei and I collected our glasses.  Duo leaned around to clink them.  Then he drank the shot down in three, lip-licking sips.  He set his glass down just as Meiran presented him with the serving tray of drinks.  “Well, back to work,” he declared, offered us a commiserating grin, and headed over to the table.

My forehead hit the bar.

“I am sorry,” Wufei said.

“Go fix it.  Now,” I ordered even though I knew he couldn’t.  Wouldn’t.

“What’s wrong with Trowa?  You didn’t let him have tequila again, did you?”

“Of course not!” Meiran retorted.  “He’s just served himself a big helping of stupid.”

I peeled my face off of the bar and glared at my just-arrived cousin.  “Go away.”

Cathy did the exact opposite, sliding into the empty seat next to my stool and patting my arm.  “There, there.  Just explain the mix-up.  Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“It won’t,” Wufei corrected her with a glower.

Meiran rolled her eyes.  “That’s because you’re a moron.  Men.  Why do they make everything so much more complicated than it needs to be?”

“And then they call us melodramatic,” Cathy agreed.

I decided it was time to go.  I swallowed back the bourbon Duo had bought for me and slid off the stool while I still possessed all my motor functions.  They had no idea how wretched this was.  Just, no idea.  Duo Maxwell was perfect and even when he thought I was gay (which I was) and didn’t punch me over it and even admitted to thinking I was decently fuckable, he’d apparently had no trouble whatsoever with the idea of me being with someone else.

If I lay down in the middle of the road, would a kind, thoughtful, passing motorist run me over?

Cathy found me sitting on top of the arena fence.  I hadn’t been able to decide which road to die on, so I’d ended up here to await inspiration.

She reached through the cattle gate and tugged on my jeans pant leg.

“What?” I sighed.

“You’re such a doofus.  Just tell him he misunderstood what he thought he overheard.”

Meiran must have filled her in.  “Too late for that.”

“Then be a man about it, Trowa.”

“There’s no way I’m going to walk up to him and kiss him, Cathy.”

“Oh, my God, you’re dense.”  She huffed, crossing her arms on the second-to-top bar.  “I meant, come up with a scenario that gets you alone with him.”

“And then kiss him?” I asked, unclear as to when it was acceptable for that to happen.

“Noooo.  Wait and see if he stays first, then you’ll know whether or not he minds being alone with you.”

“Then I can kiss him,” I decided.

“You may want to ask for permission first.”

I made a face, more irritated with myself for forgetting that step than with her for reminding me.  She patted my leg, and then she left me to think about it.  So I did.  And I made a plan.

The first heavy storm of the year blew in two weeks later and the show was canceled.  As Duo was meandering by, looking all dressed up with nowhere to go, I loudly mentioned to Sal, Ralph, and Chris that I thought this was a good night for poker.  “Anyone game?”

Of course they were.  I noticed how Duo paused, hesitating on the fringes of our group, and I called out, “Duo, care to join us?”

His smile.  It was more gorgeous than ever.  “What’s the buy-in?”

We headed for my camper, where I had stockpiled beer and bourbon and plastic cups.  I set up my folding table, claimed the seat next to our guest of honor, and tried not to rub my shoulder against Duo’s.

“Fair warning,” I began as Chris dealt the first hand, “the winner buys the booze for the next game.”

“’s that so?” he asked, looking impossibly happier.

“Yeah,” Sal said.  “We keep the winnings in the family.”

Duo’s smile wobbled and dimmed at that, but he said, “That’s how it should be.  I’m in.”

But he was out first.  Chris ran out of money shortly thereafter, followed thirty minutes later by Ralph.  It was down to me and Sal.  And then Sal pulled a straight flush outta thin air.  He cleaned me out and cackled his way out the door and into the rain.

“Next time is your place!” I yelled after him over the sound of the rain.

Chris and Ralph decided they were ready to get going as well.  Which left me alone.  With Duo.

I couldn’t believe it.  He was still here.  He’d stayed.  With me.

I sat back down next to him and he didn’t shift away.  He took another swallow from his beer cup and I watched his throat work.

“You’ve got yourself a really great family here, Trowa.”

Oh, God.  The way he said my name.  My inhibitions had been lowered enough by the alcohol — too much.  I focused on not making a fool of myself.  “I’ve known them ever since I was a kid.”

“How’d you decide to be a rodeo clown?”

I leaned back and Duo mirrored me, turning to prop his knee up on the cushion between us.  We were sitting in the dinette area.  Our bench seat was beneath a tinted window.  I shrugged.  “I grew up in the circus.”

“Yeah?” he asked and I was flattered by how interested he seemed to be in my dull past.  “What was that like?”

“Hard work.  Smelly.  No private space.  My mother was an acrobat.”

“Huh.  So that’s where you get it from.”

“Hm?”

“Your show.  The acts y’all do.”

“You’ve seen our routine?”

He chuckled.  “Every time.  Y’all are really good, Trowa.”

I closed my eyes.  Savored the sound of that: __Trowa.__

“Hey, now.  Don’ be fallin’ asleep on me.”

If only I could.  Take him to bed, exhaust him with pleasure, and fall asleep in his arms.  If only.

“I’m not,” I promised, opening my eyes again.  “I moved here when I was about nine after my mom had a bad accident and couldn’t perform anymore.  She got married a few years ago to one of the ranchers who supplies us with bronco horses.  I visit when I have time in the off-season.”

“That’s nice,” Duo complimented me, looking for all the world like I’d just told him the perfect bedtime story.

I reached out and poked him in the arm.  “You?”

“Oh, I’m here ‘cuza Howard.”

With a lazy wave of my hand, I cued him to go on.

Grinning, he said, “I’ve known him for years.  He’s been trying to get me to go pro since my junior year of high school, but I always put him off.”

“Not this year,” I observed.

“Nope,” he agreed and then gave me a dazzling smile.  “Someone’s gotta save the farm.”

“You don’t even enjoy it?”

“What?”

“Bull riding.”

He shrugged a shoulder and set his empty cup on the table.  “It’s not that—it’s not easy to explain.  An’ it’s gettin’ late.  I’d better go.”

I pushed aside the crippling wave of disappointment and followed him to the door.  “It’s really coming down,” I observed of the rain pounding on the camper roof.

“I won’ melt,” he assured me with a smirk.  He reached past me and grabbed his hat from the peg on the imitation wood paneling.

“You could stay,” I dared and he froze.  He looked up and into my eyes and — sweet Jesus — was I imagining this?  The heat in his gaze.  It drew me and I moved without thinking, shifting closer and angling my face to align our lips.

He turned away, his shoulder bumping into my chest and I stared dumbly as he put his hat on.  “I can’t,” he said, sounding sad or stressed or… something.  “I’m real sorry, Trowa.”

And then my camper door was gaping open and I was watching him slouch off into the rain.

Two days later, I was still alternating between confusion and self-pity when Heero came up to me between events.  Today was barrel racing, calf roping, and bronc riding, so I was surprised to see him out and about instead of glaring at his competitors.

“Hey,” I greeted.  “This is rare.  No poster.”

He continued his march right up to me and asked, point blank, “Are you interested in me?”

“Am I—what?”

He waited for me to answer the question.

I pulled myself together.  “Sorry, Heero, not… not at this time.”

“Then why does Duo Maxwell seem to think you are?”

What?  What was this?  I almost kiss Duo and he decides to set me up with someone else?

“I don’t understand,” I admitted, frustrated enough to run my hands through my hair.

Heero smirked.  “He threatened to castrate me if I didn’t treat you right.”

I felt my lips curve.  “He did?”

Heero nodded.  “So.  Mind explaining why he thought you wanted to ask me out?”

“He, uh, overheard a conversation between me and Wufei… and he got it wrong.”  I waited to see if Heero would pick up on what I hadn’t said.  Even if he wasn’t interested in Wufei, it wouldn’t be damning enough to be evidence at an immigration hearing.

But it looked like that wouldn’t be an issue.

Heero’s eyes sparkled.  “Excuse me.  It’s time I placed a wager on today’s outcome.”

I smirked after him, making no move to follow.  Wufei could thank me later.

But.  That still didn’t explain why Duo would try to set me up in the first place.  Could his threat of bodily harm and maiming mean what I thought it did?  That he did care?  Or was it just the “debt” he thought he owed me talking?  And, anyway, what was going on with this business of pointing Yuy in my direction?

I chewed on it for the rest of the day and all night and by the time the fairgrounds and arena were filling with people the following day, I was ready to come right out and ask.  I was dressed for work and in full makeup as I scouted the area for him.  Interestingly, it was the sound of his voice that drew me.

“I don’ care, Merquise.  I’m not interested in jumpin’ on your little band wagon.”

I turned the corner and was momentarily dazzled by the sight of Merquise in all his glitzy, silvery splendor, smiling winningly at a peeved, black-clad Duo Maxwell.  They were surrounded by gawkers and rubbernecks, fans with their magic markers in hand, just waiting for a chance to ask their favorite rider to sign their photo/magazine/T-shirt/bellybutton.

It was quite the scene.

And then Merquise took a menacing step toward Duo, looming over him in a way that I sincerely hoped I hadn’t done that night in my camper.

“I might be able to provide an additional incentive,” he purred.

Duo sucked in a deep breath, his temper visibly rising and his mouth opening to deliver what was bound to be one hell of a refusal.

Whatever that refusal was, nobody heard.

Zechs Merquise whipped off his hat, leaned down, and kissed Duo Maxwell.  On the lips.

No.

Duo’s lashes fluttered with shock or pleasure — I couldn’t tell which.  His body swayed an inch or two closer to the taller rider, and then he stumbled back — __reared__  back — and threw a fist right at Merquise’s perfect face.

Merquise took a playful and timely leap backwards and laughed.

“You—you—!” Duo visibly struggled for the words to describe what kind of low-life, shit-eating, slime bag Merquise was.

“Yes?” Merquise drawled with utmost anticipation.

“You stay away from me!”  With that, Duo pivoted on his heel and marched off.

I gaped.

“What was all that about?” one of the fans demanded and Merquise chuckled, settling his pristine Stetson onto his pompous head.

He tweaked the brim with a showy flick of his wrist.  “Oh, just a little joke between friends.”

I didn’t need a lie-detector to tell me that was bullshit.  While I had no idea what was really going on here, I was fairly certain that he and Duo were not “friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains so many gifts from Ry:  
> (1) Wufei in a marriage of convenience with Meiran so that he can live and work in the U.S. in order to send money home to his parents,  
> (2) Wufei’s rodeo betting ring,  
> (3) Wufei and Trowa’s reasons for not telling Duo he heard shit wrong,  
> (4) Meiran and Cathy as a couple,  
> (5) Meiran and Cathy totally dissing men for being morons who over-complicate shit,  
> (6) Duo trying to help Trowa and Heero hook-up,  
> (7) Heero confronting Trowa about his supposed interest and being all, “WTF, man?” 
> 
> There might be more. There probably is more. It was over 6 months ago and, frankly, the fact that I’ve remembered this much is a clear indication of how deeply and disturbingly invested I am in this fic idea.


	3. Hayloft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “Lie In The Sound” by Tresspassers William

“Go and talk to him, Trowa.”

I shook my head and lifted the lip of the bottle to my mouth.  Jack Daniels didn’t taste so bad once you got to the stuff in the middle.  Amazing.

I should have done this earlier instead of waiting an entire week, watching Duo dodge and avoid me.  This afternoon’s open-to-the-public, meet-and-greet rally with all the rodeo participants had tipped the scales.  Merquise had been standing just a little too close to Duo, whose smile hadn’t faltered once.  The two of them waving and signing autographs and shaking the hands of fans.  Even posing together for photos.  Having a good ol’ time being so close to each other.  Rubbing elbows.

I downed another swallow.

Cathy held out a hand.  “Give me the bottle, Trowa.  You’ve had enough.”

“Go away.”  I had the niggling suspicion that I was repeating myself, but if it worked, then I decided that I wouldn’t care.

“I raised you better than this!”

“For fuck’s sake, you are three years older than me!”

“Three years translates to twelve in stupid boy years!”

Maybe I was a stupid boy.  Stupid for wanting Duo Maxwell.  Stupid for falling for his fucking dimple.  Stupid for not noticing the whatever-it-was that was going on between him and Merquise.

Was it all a show?

Was it real?

When Duo had turned away from me that night, had he simply been trying to keep me out of it?

“Trowa…” Cathy persisted.

“Go.  Away.”

“Fine.  Drink until you barf, you idiot.”

She stomped away and clamored down the ladder.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the hayloft doors.  It was a beautiful evening, not a cloud in the sky, and all I wanted was to fly off into it.  I drank a little more.  The world started to spin.  Perfect.

“Trowa?”

Oh, no.  I was imagining him here?  Now?  I decided, very objectively, that I had an extremely bad sense of timing.

“Aw, shit.  Lookit you.”

And I was looking at him, watching him pull himself up through the trapdoor and scuff his way across the scattered bits of straw toward me.

Oddly enough, he looked like he always did after a bull ride.  A little windblown.  A little tired.  A lot gorgeous.

“Today—the rally.  Good job handling Merquise,” I congratulated him, lifting the bottle in his direction.  I was surprised by how little was left in it.

He took it from me and I watched him greedily as he tilted it back.  Swallowed.

“How often do you shave?” I asked.

“Every damn day.  Like most.  How about you?”

I sighed.  “Same.”  I scratched at my jaw.  I could feel the hair pushing its way out.  Odd that.  The rest of my face was numb otherwise.

Duo moved closer, avoiding the open window and sitting beside me, helping me brace the door open.

“Merquise kissed you,” I accused.

Duo took another drink.  “He did do that, yes.”

“And you tried to punch him.”

“Wouldn’ you?”

I admitted that I would, but then I added, “I tried to kiss you.  You didn’t try to punch me.”

“There wasn’ enough room in your camper for a good swing.”

“Oh.”

“No, Trowa.  Here.  Lookit me.”

I did.  I leaned into the hands that gripped my shoulders.  I looked at him and I knew that, as long as I lived, I’d never forget him.  I’d always want him.  Always wonder what might have been.

“Trowa,” he sang softly and I was done for.  I would believe whatever he said.  “I didn’ wanna hit you.  I wanted to kiss you, too.  I __want__  to.  I want __you.”__

I couldn’t have heard that right.  I shook my head.  “Duo, what?”

He sighed.  “You’re too drunk for this right now.”

“So, you don’t mean what you just said.”

“Oh, I mean it.”

Our gazes met and I felt a sharp thrill go right through me at the intensity of his look.  Pure exhilaration and the spinning of the Earth and, suddenly, I was dizzy.  “You want…?”

“You.  Just you.”

My head cleared.  Grounded.  I smiled and he froze.  “What is it?” I asked, my happiness dimming.

He reached out a hand toward my mouth and traced my lips.  I was glad I’d taken the time to wash the makeup off of my face before grabbing the bottle and hiking out here.  His skin against mine; it felt like little fireworks peppering my lips.

“You have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen, Trowa Barton.”  My joy restored, I beamed at him.  “An’ I wanna see it every day.  I wanna be a reason for it.”

“You are.  Can be.  Duo, you really want—?”

He bit his lip.  Nodded.  His hands framed my face now and my heart was pounding.

“Kiss me,” I begged.

I tried to lean forward, but his expression crumpled and the hands that were holding onto me were now holding me away.  What was he—was this some kind of sick joke—let’s play a joke on the clown—it’ll be so funny—!

“Liar,” I spat, disgusted and queasy, trying to twist out of his grip.  I was taller, yes, but I was drunk and the world was revolving cock-eyed and, of the two of us, he was the one more used to grappling with enraged animals.  We tumbled across the floor, knocked the bottle over.  Liquor sloshed on the dusty boards.  I watched it splash to and fro in the bottle as Duo grabbed me from behind, wrestled my arms against my sides and his strong legs tangled with mine.

“I am a liar,” he agreed, his breath reaching through the weave of my shirt to puff against my spine, “but I’ll never lie to you.  I promise.  I promise.”

He sounded so miserable.  Just like I was miserable.  Why were we so miserable?

“Lemme take you home, Trowa.  Please.”

I laid my head on the floor and sighed.  Nodded.  I couldn’t fight anymore.  I had nothing left in me.

I woke in the fold-out bed of my camper to the screaming of a kettle.  I opened my eyes and glared blearily at the intruder.  “Damn it, Cathy.  Go away.”

“Shut up and drink this damn coffee.”

I winced as each individual grain of freeze-dried coffee crystals tinkled against the metal of the coffee cup.  I could hear water steaming and sloshing.  She stirred and every clank of the metal spoon as it hit the sides of the mug rang like the tolling of church bells.

She walked over with heavy, booming steps and pressed the cup into my hands.  I glared down at her filthy boots on the camper's waxed floor.  Damn it, she knew better, but I just could not summon the energy to remind her.

I slowly propped myself up on an elbow, lifted the steel mug to my lips.  Inhaled.  Sipped.  Squashed the urge to vomit.

“There’s a bucket here if you need it.  I’ve already told Daddy that you’re not working today.”

I squinted at her.  “What?  I can work.”

“With this hangover?  You’ll get yourself killed.”

She might be right, but I wasn’t ready to give in.  “Let me see how I feel in thirty minutes.”

She sighed and stared at me while I drank the shitty coffee.

“Did you bring me back?” I asked, my memory jumbled and fuzzy.

“No, you can thank Duo for that.”  I looked at her — hard — until she elaborated, “I went and got him and he went and got you, then he told me to come over and watch you just in case you got alcohol poisoning.”

So it had been real.  The confessions in the hayloft.   _“I want ** **you.**** ” _ I remembered him saying it so clearly.  The look in his eyes — it had been more than just lust talking, but he hadn’t stayed with me last night.  What was I missing?

I sat up.  Whatever was in my stomach stayed there.  “I feel better.  Thank you.”

She nodded.  “You’re welcome.”  She moved to the door, then stopped and said, clearly against her better judgment, “Duo was really worried about you.  He cares about you a lot.”

I tried to swallow, but my throat was too tense.  Scorched.

“Maybe he just needs time.  You might be the first man he’s ever felt this way about.”

Shit.  Why hadn’t that occurred to me?

Because I couldn’t believe that I could ever be anyone’s “first.”  In anything.

“Be patient and listen to him and please,” she begged, “whatever you do, don’t go off and do—”  Her gaze dropped to my left arm and the scar in the crook of my elbow.  Thankfully, I was still wearing yesterday’s dusty, long-sleeved shirt, but we both knew what she was looking at through the weave.  She cleared her throat.  “Just don’t do a repeat of yesterday or…”

 _“Or…”_  She didn’t have to say anything else.  I remembered.  I nodded.

She pressed, “OK?”

“OK,” I rasped.

She shut the door quietly behind her.  I finished the coffee.  I got up, braced myself against the counter, and made more.

I desperately wanted to crawl back in bed, so I made myself shove my feet into my boots and go for a walk.  It was sunny, but not quiet.  The moment I opened the door, I heard my uncle’s voice blasting out of the shitty PA speakers and echoing over the fairgrounds, announcing the final scores for break away roping.  It was the first event on today’s schedule.

Bull riding was up on the hour.

I wandered through the livestock area, listening to the restless pawing of the cattle in the queue.  There was a rattle and a bovine roar.  One of the bulls was in a mood.  It was Shinigami.  Snorting, pawing, banging his blunted horns against the metal rails.  He noticed me watching and stopped.  Stood at attention, his hide quivering along his shoulders.  He stared at me, his eyes rolling back to reveal the whites.

A thought came to me.  A silly, baseless idea, but I found myself in front of the bull-and-rider board nonetheless, searching for Duo’s name, finding it, following it across and reading what I somehow knew was already there:

Shinigami.

No.  Not today.  Not the day after he’d found me in that hayloft and he’d said—

No.  

I raced back to my camper, threw on my costume and makeup.  Then I was pelting for the arena.  I caught up to the guys just as they were getting ready to go over the fence.

“Hey, heard you were sick today.”

“I’m fine.”

“I dunno.  You look a little pale.”

“I’m wearing clown makeup,” I pointed out.

“Oh.  Huh.  That must be it.”

“You ready for this?” Sal asked.  “Shinigami’s up today.”

“I’m ready.”

“OK.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

Today’s performance called for me to “walk like an Egyptian” along the top rail.  I wobbled twice, but caught myself before the audience noticed.  I performed a handstand on Chris’ shoulders this time and used my legs to articulate the YMCA for everyone.  They laughed.  Chris launched me up and I overshot, landing on the edge of my heels, tumbling backwards in a somersault, and coming up with a smart jump.  The audience thought it was part of the show.

Ralph came up to me while we were leading the crowd through a performance of the funky chicken.  “Get outta here after we finish the show.”

“No!  I’m good.  I overslept and didn’t warm up today is all.”  And it was even true… just not the whole truth.

_“I am a liar.  But I’ll never lie to you.  I promise…”_

I shook the memory aside.

The event was starting.  Merquise had drawn the first slot and, in that instant, I almost wished I’d stayed in bed.  The bull he was on today was the biggest we had — a completely unpredictable mess named Sandrock.  There were rides where the animal gave us some token resistance before calmly trotting off to the gate and back to his pen.  And then there were rides where he relentlessly mowed down anything that moved.

Today was one of the latter.

“Hup-hup-hup!” Sal barked as he pounded in Chris’ direction.

Chris cut in as Sal leaped up to the top of the wall.  Sandrock was hard on the heels of his new target.

“Comin’ atcha, Trowa!”

I dived between them on a little spin that, with my multi-colored tunic, would really catch the animal’s eye.  I raced for safety as Ralph moved in.  But then Sandrock pounced forward and Ralph bashed into the side of the bull’s face.  Sandrock swerved for Ralph as he stumbled, arms flailing, and I was too close to the wall — I had nowhere to go except up or the wide open arena, but Sal and Chris were too far away to help Ralph.

I reached for my last resort, a bright red handkerchief that I kept in my pants’ oversized back pocket.  I fluttered it in Sandrock’s face and the bull angled his horns for it, spun away from Ralph just as he fell back on his ass and the bull surged toward me.  The gasps of the crowd barely registered as I jogged out into the open space, threw the rag in the general direction of the center of the arena, and then I dashed around the bull, circling back to the wall.

For a few critical seconds, there were no hoof beats behind me, but then Sandrock locked on again.  He was intent on mowing me down and I was so close to the wall.  Just an arm’s length away.  But not quite close enough.  I took a gamble, turned on the balls of my feet.

The bull’s head was down, coming closer, sweeping up.  I jumped right onto his forehead and let him launch me into the air.  My arms went out and I grabbed the top of the wall, smashed into it along my left side, and then swung my legs up and over.

I looked back, bracing myself on the top rail, ready to get back in there if Sal or Ralph or Chris were in trouble, but the pick up men had it under control now.  Sandrock bucked and tossed his head as he was cantered through the gate.

Around me, people were on their feet, applauding with looks of relief on their faces.  I took a bow.  Then I got back to work.

“You all right?” Chris asked and I nodded.  I was fine.  I scooped up my red handkerchief.  Folded it up.  Tucked it away.

“I’m warmed up now.”

He and Sal, who had overheard, chuckled.  I rotated my shoulders and hissed at the sudden, stabbing pain in the right one.  Maybe I’d twisted it going over the wall like I had.  Well, it wasn’t damaged.  I could use it.  In fact, I forgot about that moment of pain completely as we tag teamed bull after bull.  The four of us had a system and it was a well-oiled machine today.  We relaxed and started to have a little fun with it.

When “Walk This Way” came on, I did a bit of a moonwalk, spun, and grabbed for my crotch with a hip thrust that got a noisy reaction out of the crowd, but I hadn’t forgotten whose song this was or which bull he was going to be riding.

The other guys kept their eyes on the gate.

It rattled.  The bull screamed and I could hear Duo barking at the handlers.  “Wait!  Wait!  OK.  I’m good.  NOW!”

The chute swung open and Shinigami was suddenly everywhere.  Bucking and spinning circles like he thought he was a tornado in Kansas.  Two seconds in, Duo’s hat flew off and I somehow knew that this ride was not going to get any smoother.

Duo sensed it, too.  He had no intention of holding on any longer than he absolutely had to.  He shouted to us, counting down.

“I’m comin’ off!  Left side — left side — in 3—2—1!”

The buzzer sounded.

He released his grip on the rope rigging and jumped, but Shinigami’s furious kicking had loosened the knot and somehow the tail end of the rope was following Duo off the bull.

Duo fell hard on his shoulders, his right boot caught.  The bull was still kicking; Duo scrambled up, clawing at the ground with both hands, trying to draw his left foot under him and stay mobile.  Chris and Ralph took heads, Sal took tails, and I darted in next to Duo to work on the tangle of rope.

Shinigami spun around, a full 360, knocking us over and I landed on top of Duo on the ground.  Hooves thrashed around us and, over our heads, the belly of the bull rose and fell and rose again.

Ralph was trying to lead the bull off, get him to go in a straight line so I could get Duo free.

Duo was trying to shield me as much as I was trying to shield him in the thrashing dirt.

Finally, I got a grip on the rope, pulled in enough slack and tore the knot out.  Duo was free.  The rope screamed through my fingers — left me with rope burn but that was the least of my worries.  Shinigami was circling back, ignoring Sal and Ralph.  He swerved for Duo, who had just rolled away and up onto his feet, but Duo was hunched over, favoring his right leg, and the only thing I could do for him was my job.

I reached for the red cloth for the second time today and offered myself up to the bull.

“Me!” I shouted.  “Come get me!”

He did.

“No!” Duo yelled.

The guys weren’t in position to help me, and I only had a few seconds.  I had to make them count.

I sprinted for the pick up man I could see moving in.  Knew I wasn’t going to make it.  Changed course for the closest barrel.  Shinigami overshot and I slid like I was heading for home plate, coming up on my hands and knees as Shinigami rolled his head, evading the lasso.  He spun around and started a new charge, gunning right for me.

I surged to my feet and tossed the handkerchief, but the bull didn’t take the bait and now he was right behind me as I pounded for the wall.

_Not going to make it!_

I tried to spin out of the way but something hard caught me around the waist, lifted me off my feet.

And then—

Then I was opening my eyes in the first aid tent.

“Hey,” a familiar voice softly called.  In the distance, I could hear the approaching wail of a siren.  “Trowa, hey.”

“Duo!”  I reached for him and his hand slid into my grasp and I was pulling him in, close enough to see his face and his smile and he looked OK, but I had to ask, “Where did he get you?”

“Just a dumb sprained ankle.  I’m fine.  An’ you will be, too.”

“What?”  It came back to me in a rush and I grabbed for my side, fearing that I’d been gored despite the blunted tips of the bull’s horns.

“Shh-shh-shh,” he soothed, petting my neck, my shoulder, my arm.  “There’s no blood, but they’re takin’ you in for x-rays.  You hit your head against the wall.”

“Oh.”  I winced.  “That’s why it hurts.”

Duo breathed out a laugh.

“We’re ready for you both,” the on-site medical staff said and I endured the ignominy of being transferred and secured to a gurney.  I felt marginally better when Duo was shoved into the ambulance with me.

“X-rays?” I guessed.

“Yup.  Right after you, sunshine.”

My head was killing me, but I couldn’t help but grin at the spunky endearment.

“I reckon you’ve earned that Camaro now,” he drawled.

I laughed.  It hurt like hell, but I had no regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering about that scar on Trowa's elbow and the "or..." Cathy mentioned, just be patient. We'll come back to this. Eventually.
> 
> FANART UPDATE: ShenLong has very kindly and generously shared artistic talent with us! Check out this spectacular and striking sketch (work safe) of Duo bull riding and Trowa rodeo clowning --  
> http://www.gundam-wing-diaries.foreverfandom.net/gw/Duo%20Bull.htm


	4. The Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I am taking EXTREME LIBERTIES with livestock handling methods. EXTREEEEEEEEEEEEME. (But I just could not help myself.) More notes on the mileage I got out of my artistic license are at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Music rec: “Love Love Love” by Of Monsters and Men
> 
> Also, in my humble opinion, "Paint it Black" by The Rolling Stones is one of THE BEST Duo theme songs (canon Duo, I mean, not necessarily rodeo!Duo) in the history of ever.

I’d been sitting in the empty waiting room, ribs wrapped up and window blinds drawn shut, for about forty minutes when the door opened and Duo hobbled in on a pair of crutches.  He was concentrating fully on what he was doing: the tip of his tongue poked out from between his tight lips.

How I could still find him sexy-as-pure-sin in this situation, I had no idea.  Hell, I’d probably get it up watching him pour a bowl of cereal.

He sat down across from me, doing a couple of little hops to avoid putting weight on his right foot, and settled his crutches against the next chair over.  He looked up and asked quietly, “Your pain killers workin’?”

“Just starting to.”

“I gotta come clean,” he announced.

Oh, God.  “What?”

“I’m pregnant.  It’s yours.”

I snorted and felt the tension ease from my shoulders.  “Damn it, Duo.”

“I’m under contract.”

I frowned, taking in his solemn expression.

“It includes my personal life.  Howard owns every minute of my time from now ‘til the end o’ the season.  So when there’s somethin’ I want, an’ I say that I want it, what I mean is ‘I can’t have it.’”

“Yet,” I added.

He closed his eyes.  “I can’t ask you to wait.”

“You won’t have to, because I will.”

“Trowa,” he chided me and damn it all if the sound didn’t make my skin tingle.  He opened his eyes and studied me. “Don’ promise me if—”

“Shh,” I hushed him.  “You want this.  Is that true?”

“Yeah.  ’s true.”

“Are you willing to wait for it?”

“YES.”

The speed of his reply and the hunger in that one word was—gratifying.  And a relief.  And it started a slow burn deep in my belly.  “Then we wait.”

He was quiet for a long moment.  “Why’d you get in the arena today?”

“Shinigami,” I told him.

He let out a long breath.

I suddenly remembered: “Merquise kissed you.”

“He did.”

“And you let him.  And at the rally, you two were—” I couldn’t say it.  I could barely __think__  it.

His head bowed.  “This is why I wanted to keep you out of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It was staged,” he confessed.  “Howard knew Khush was gonna be desperate to rattle my cage—”

Duo was leading Zechs Merquise by a very comfortable margin in the standings.

“—an’ we figured it’d be somethin’ like this.  Seein’ as how I haven’ let on that I’m… otherwise inclined.  Rumors about that little scene made it onto the grapevine an’ drew a big crowd to the rally.  They were expectin’ to see a fight, so we psyched ‘em out by bein’ all buddy-buddy.”  Duo shrugged.  “Howard and Khush have been doin’ this for years.  It’s all part o’ the show.”

“And the punch—that was part of the show, too?”

“Hell yeah, it was.  I can hit a helluvalot faster ‘n that.  But Howard told me that if I broke his face, the repairs were comin’ outta my pay.”

I looked at him for a long moment.  “Don’t break my face.  Please.”

He snorted out a laugh and it felt amazing to do that for him, to make him laugh and smile and look at me _just like that._

Then he sobered again: “I wasn’ kiddin’ about my reason for bein’ here — savin’ the family farm.  I really do need the money, or I wouldn’ give a damn about any contract.”

My heart raced at the look in his eyes.  “Cathy said I should give you time because I might be your first.”

“Well, I reckon time’s a good idea — I rush into things a lot.  Blindly,” he allowed.  “An’ as for the other part, yeah, you pret’near are.”  He shrugged in response to whatever he was seeing in my expression.  Shock, probably.  Disbelief, definitely.  “Two words: Bozeman, Montana.  We ain’t got any village people.”

“Jesus.  Duo.”  He waited for me to figure out what I wanted to say next.  “It is killing me not to come over there and kiss you.”

His fingers curled around the armrests of his chair and he pulled himself forward until he was perching on the edge of the seat.  “Come season’s end — win, lose, or fail — I will kiss you, Trowa Barton, an’ I won’ stop ‘til you tell me to.”

That — oh, God — that was something worth waiting for.  “I’ll hold you to it.”

“Good.”

My pulse quickened.  God damn it.  How the hell was I going to make it through the rest of the summer and the fall?  So many months stretched ahead, but what I saw in his eyes pushed aside my burning impatience.  I already had so much more than I’d ever expected: I’d expected him to be a carbon copy of Merquise and his ilk; I’d expected him to be completely, tragically straight; I’d expected him to overlook me in every way… but none of those things had happened at all.

Duo Maxwell was mine on a level that Howard’s contract couldn’t touch, even though it meant that we wouldn’t be touching each other.

I looked him down and up again.  I’d never wanted anyone or anything so much in my life.  It would be so incredibly easy to start — I could take him back to the hayloft for a beer and the sunset and a kiss — but it would be impossible to stop.  I knew that once I had him panting and shuddering and surrendering in my arms that I’d only want more.  There was no way we’d be able to keep it a secret for the five months that remained of the season.

Waiting was going to be pure hell.

But I’d do it.  It was time for me to be a man about this.  I was going to impress Duo Maxwell with my patience and integrity if it killed me.

“Well, you’re both alive, I see,” the doctor declared, shouldering open the waiting room door.  “Despite all your efforts to the contrary.”

Duo ducked his head in perfect contrition.  “Thanks for patchin’ us up, Doctor J.”

“You can thank me by staying away from those crazy animals, but since I know neither of you will be doing that anytime soon, I’ll settle for not seeing your faces in my hospital for the rest of the season.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Duo meekly intoned.

Doctor Jowolinvinsky turned to me.  “Mister Barton?”

“I’ll do my best.”  I smirked.

Doctor J slashed at the papers on his clipboard with a pen.  “You’ve been released.  Do not take on any cattle for one week.  Minimum.  Either of you.”

The door whispered shut behind him.

I turned toward Duo just as he started snickering.

I smiled.

And I kept right on smiling through my bruised ribs and thrumming headache.

“You and Duo are… things are all right now?” Cathy guessed when she came over to check on me, delivering a steam-wilted bag of takeout from the cantina.

I set my book down and pulled myself up to investigate what was for dinner.  “We’re going to get to know each other.”

“Very wise, Trowa.  Good for you.”

“Just... don’t tell anyone.  It could get Duo in trouble with his sponsors.”

“My lips are sealed,” she vowed.

I peeked in the bag.  “There’s enough here for two people.”

She shrugged and headed for the door, shutting it before I could ask if she wanted any.  But she hadn’t brought it for herself.  Of course not.  Grinning, I divided the portions and set my half in the microwave.  Then I grabbed the takeout bag and stuck my feet in my boots.

Duo’s trailer was at the other end of the parking lot.  It was huge and shiny and every year there was a new one in its place.  I suspected it was a donation from a sponsor that Howard had suckered in.  I’d never had the balls to knock on the door before and even now I was a little uncertain of my welcome here.  I hesitated long enough to listen a moment, detecting music.  Rock music.

I thought of Duo’s choice of song for his ride intro — “Walk This Way” — and suddenly it all made sense.  Duo Maxwell, the bull rider, was playing a role.

Well, I could, too.  If I had to.

I knocked.

A few moments later, I heard Duo’s voice.  “Yeah, ’s open.”

Surprised, I reached for the handle.  The song “Paint It Black” poured out with the lamplight.  “Duo?”

“Trowa?”

I poked my head inside and found him sitting at the table in the nearby dining area, a deck of cards in his hands and several rows laid out in front of him.  A game of Solitaire.  It was tragic.  He was such a generous, warm, sexy man and here he was playing Solitaire.

He reached over and turned down the volume on the boom box.

“How’s your ankle?” I asked from the top step.

“Eh,” he answered with a shrug.  “Your head botherin’ you?”

“Not so much.”

“So it’s just the ribs now, right?”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

He smirked.  “Maybe I am.”

I held up the takeout bag.  “Hungry?”

He looked from the bag to me and bit his lip.  Regret flashed in his eyes.  “I—”

“This is your half.  If you want it.”

The moment he realized what I was saying, he grinned.  “’course I want it.”

We both knew he wasn’t talking about cantina cuisine.  My fingers tightened along the wrinkled top of the paper bag.  I glanced away and spotted a nearby counter top.  “I’ll just leave it here, then.”  I turned to go.

“Trowa!” he called.

I turned back.  “Yeah?”

“I was thinkin’ about going out for lunch tomorrow.”

“The cantina—Longs’?” I guessed.  Any other place he had in mind would require a drive.

He nodded.

“It’s quiet after two,” I recommended.

“Sounds good,” he said and I knew it was a date.

I waved goodnight and closed the door behind me.  I didn’t head back to my camper.  Not yet.  While I had my boots on, I might as well pay someone else a visit.  I headed for the stock pens and faced off with Shinigami.  He was munching through his hay, indifferent to my presence right up until I stopped in front of his feed trough.  His nostrils flared and he snorted, turned his head to get a good look at me with one eye.  Maybe he could smell Duo on me, or maybe it was just me he responded to.  Either way.

“Don’t think I’ll forget this,” I told the bull.  Not that I was in the habit of cutting massive, unpredictable animals any slack, but where this creature was concerned, I really was going to show no mercy.  At all.  Ever.

He stomped his foot.  Huffed.

It looked like we understood each other.

I headed for my next stop: the AV trailer.

“Trowa!” my uncle greeted, doing a comical double-take.  “What are you doing up and about so soon?  Didn’t Cathy bring you something to eat?”

“She did.  I needed to stretch my legs.  Are the tapes ready yet?”

He frowned; his lips pursed out from within his full, dark beard.  If he hadn’t had a falling out with the old ringmaster at the circus, he might have taken over one day.  I could see it; he was a genuine showman and a real hardass of a boss.  “The tapes?  Sure, they’re ready.”

He pulled one VHS off the top of a stack.  He always made free copies for me and the safety guys so we could work on our bullfighting techniques.  Maybe tweak our show routine if we had nothing better to do.

“Now, I don’t blame you for wanting to see this for yourself, but are you sure you want to do it now?” he checked.

I held out my hand.  He passed me the tape.

“I’m glad you’re all right.  And I know I haven’t said it before, but I’m real pleased with your professionalism, Trowa,” he approved.

“Thanks for the tape,” I told him and shut the door behind me.

Professionalism.  In previous years, yeah.  Not this year, though.  This year, I’d spent way too much time watching, rewinding, and re-watching Duo’s rides just for the pleasure of admiring his lithe strength.

That wasn’t why I was going to be watching today, though.

I forced myself to eat first.  I imagined Duo sitting at his table alone, working through the hot roast beef and cheddar sub sandwich, digging through the lukewarm coleslaw, and scraping up the cemented puddle of beans.  The same as me.

Then I forced myself to read for an hour and digest.

After that, I put the tape in the VCR and hit Play.

I took notes during the Sandrock close calls and then set my pad and pencil aside for the others.  Those had gone smoothly.  I’d gotten my shit together by then.

But then I heard Duo’s song and I sat forward, folding my hands over my mouth, and stared at the screen.

He was in trouble from the get-go.  I could see it clearly from the camera angle, but he’d stuck it out.  Maybe hoped the bull would tire himself out a bit instead of working himself into a greater raging fit.

I made myself watch as Duo slid off and the end of the rigging rope went taut, looped around his ankle in a stupid tension knot.  He struggled up.  I dived in next to him, grabbing for his boot.  The bull spun, knocked us over.  I was on top of Duo, still struggling for a grip on the rope and the hooves were smashing down on either side of our shoulders, arms, and legs as Shinigami spun and spun and spun and Ralph was trying to draw him off but that fucking bull was intent on trampling us under his feet.

Chris darted in and rammed his shoulder into the animal’s snout, combined the strength of his upper body with the momentum of the bull’s spinning, and it stunned him.  That moment, the rope went slack.  Shinigami was blocking the camera angle, but I knew that was when I’d gotten Duo loose.

Shinigami took one step toward Chris, but then Duo rolled onto his knees.  The bull paused.  Duo lurched to his feet.  The bull turned.  Their gazes locked.

And then I flew between them, waving the red handkerchief like a maniac.

 _“Me!  Come get me!”_  I couldn’t hear it over the roaring of the crowd, but I could read it on my outlined lips.

The camera stayed on Duo as I darted out of the frame, leading Shinigami out into the arena.  And Duo — oh, my God what in the hell was he doing?  He wasn’t moving toward the wall.  Sal pushed him toward safety and Duo shoved him back, his eyes locked on the action out in the arena.  There was fear in his eyes.  Real, honest-to-God terror.

And then his gaze shifted and I knew this was the part where I was racing back to the wall, handkerchief long gone and all hope lost.

Duo shucked off his gloves and hobbled in my direction, his face twisted with pain and determination.  Suddenly, I was back in the frame and Shinigami was hooking me up between his horns, tossing me aside.  My head bounced hard against the wall and I was down in the dirt, laid out and completely vulnerable and there was no way Sal or Ralph or Chris were going to be able to get in there and distract the animal.  There wasn’t enough room or enough time and in the next second the bull was going to run me over.  His momentum alone—!

Duo jumped over my prone legs and rammed his fingers right into the animal’s slimy nostrils.  Shinigami’s head went up and Duo corkscrewed his entire body toward the ground, using his full weight to bend the bull’s head down, twisting the animal’s neck at an awkward angle, and Shinigami skidded, slipped, struggled to get his feet under him.  Dirt was flying and striking my clothes, and those deadly hooves thrashed inches from me, but Duo didn’t let up and then a lasso roped Shinigami’s horns.  Followed by a second.  The bull was pulled out of the frame.  Chris and Sal and Ralph rushed in, but Duo was already kneeling over me, checking for a pulse in the side of my neck.

I grabbed clumsily for the remote.  Paused the tape just as Duo let Ralph pull him away.

Oh, God.

Jesus.

I just.

I rubbed my hands over my face, interlaced my fingers in front of my mouth and bit down on a knuckle.

What Duo had done was impossible.  Or it should have been.  David taking on Goliath.  From Duo’s strike to the first lasso pulling taut, not two seconds had passed — I rewound, double checked the time stamp, and confirmed it — 01.72 seconds exactly.  In that 01.72 seconds, Duo had somehow tapped into a natural fulcrum in the bull’s neck and redirected all that on-coming force.  Precisely.

Unbelievable.

I turned off the VCR and jumped at the sound of the TV.  The local news was on — it was already past eleven — and I left it to play.  The droning voice of the newscaster was normal.  Soothing.

I got up to wash my sweaty hands.  I poured a glass of water.  Stood at the sink as I gulped it down.  Thankful for the fact that I’d waited an hour between eating and watching that video because—oh, God— _how—?_

And why the hell hadn’t Ralph said anything when he’d come to pick us up at the hospital?  Although, that look he’d shared with Duo and the way Duo’s mouth had tightened and he’d shaken his head once—I’d thought it was over Duo’s refusal to ride shotgun.

Like hell it’d been.  It’d been over _this._

I almost wondered why Cathy hadn’t said anything, but then she’d probably figured that I already knew.

“This next clip will have you asking just how he did it!” the news anchor crowed.  “Today at Bloom’s Rodeo—”

I dived for the TV, landed hard on my unmade bed, and winced when my ribs absorbed the impact.

“Bull rider Duo Maxwell from Bozeman, Montana went up against an eighteen-hundred-pound bull and stopped it in its tracks.”

The angle was different — a spectator’s home video camera — and the quality was bad as the news crew tried to zoom in.  But the events themselves were still pretty clear: I was tossed against the wall and knocked out, and Duo limped forward, dropped his gloves, and—

They cut away until just Duo and Shinigami were on the screen and I stared, somehow surprised that I was seeing it again.  As if history could have been rewritten in the meantime.

“How did he do it?” a reporter asked a gray-haired man with a slick goatee.  I noted the Aloha shirt, the mirrored sunglasses, the bald spot on the top of his head.  This was Duo’s manager, Howard.

He grinned.  “The Maxwells of Bozeman have been cattle men for generations.  Duo is very talented, both on and off the bull.”

“Have you ever seen anything like this before in your rodeo?”

This question was directed at my uncle, who shook his head.  “Never in all my years.  It was sensational.”

“Duo Maxwell himself said this during a telephone interview—”

A professionally done photo of Duo in all his black, bull riding glory blinked onto the screen.

_“I ask that no one — an’ I mean nobody — try to do what I did in the arena.  It was stupid of me to get involved and in the way of the safety people, who are professionals.  Also, that maneuver is tricky to get right and there’s a risk of injurin’ the animal.  An’ you might just get yourself killed.  I was lucky.  An’ I’d like to thank the pick up men for their amazin’ timing.  Otherwise, you’da seen me flyin’ through the air.”_

“But what prompted you to take on the bull they call Shinigami, the God of Death?”

Duo’s voice answered, _“I’ve spent the better part of four months with those fellas — the safety men — an’ they’ve saved my life a dozen times over.  They’ve become part of my family.  An’ when somethin’ comes after my family, well, I get right in the middle.  Like I said, it was stupid, an’ I’m lucky everyone — even that ornery bull — seems to be doin’ all right.”_

The news anchor smiled winningly at the camera, “And that’s how they ‘lead a bull around by his nose’ in Bozeman, Montana!”

I switched off the TV.  Sickened and furious.

And proud and awed.

And so in love with Duo Maxwell that I could strangle him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up until now, all the bullfighting maneuvers I’ve described have been based on actual, live videos that I’ve seen. How Duo stops Shinigami from pulverizing Trowa — that’s my own invention. I had every intention of changing it later… except it kinda became a thing in this fic. So, let’s imagine that, in this AU, it is remotely possible for human beings to control massive, enraged cattle like that. 
> 
> Though, in my defense, I point to two things (1) in certain parts of the world, cattle have been (and maybe still are) pierced with a ring through the nose to make them easier to handle, so clearly this is a anatomical feature that can be taken advantage of, and (2) if somebody suddenly stuck their fingers up your nose (I can’t believe I’m owning up to knowing this, but… *sigh* this actually happens between two dudes in the Japanese manga series, “Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure” (Season/Series 3) — Mr. Manny is a fan, so I’ve seen all the anime episodes and I even know which scenes deviate from the manga and— we are such fucking geeks) *ahem* as I was saying, if somebody jammed their fingers up your nostrils, that’d get your attention real quick. I mean, c’mon.
> 
> Duo’s contract with Howard, which prevents him from pursuing Trowa, was another thing that came out of Skype sessions with Ry. I have no evidence that rodeo participants even have managers (today or in the 90s) but I'm sure sponsors are a possibility. And, as this is America's Heartland in the 1990s, I'm inclined to think that not many companies would invest in an openly homosexual star (rodeo, music, movie, athletics, etc.).


	5. Reese's Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Ragdoll Princes & Junkyard Queens” by Antje Duvekot

“You saw the news,” Duo said, sliding into the seat across from mine in the empty cantina.  The fairgrounds were always closed the day after a bull ride event.  To give the animals — and, in this instance, the people as well — a chance to settle down.

“How can you tell?” I sneered, arms crossed and fingers curling-digging-gouging into my biceps.  I was even more angry now than I had been last night.

He propped his crutches up on the chair to his left.  “You look mad enough to spit nails.”

“I am.”

He sighed and slumped back, looking dejected and — damn it all to hell — I was fucked all over again.

“Thank you,” I said, my fury evaporating like the morning dew.  “It looks like I owe _you_  that Camaro now.”

He smiled.  The dimple was back.  God, save me.  “Maybe we could share it.  If you don’ mind.  Sharin’.”

Why not?  I smiled back.  “What’s mine is yours.”

As our gazes held, I belatedly realized how… _inviting_  that had sounded.  Duo had heard it, too.  There was heat in his gaze, just like that night in my camper.  If I leaned across this stupidly small table, would he tilt his chin up, meet me halfway?  Our mouths really were only a moment apart and, if I took that moment, I’d be able to taste him.  Meiran was busy in the kitchen.  We were the only customers in the place.  No one would see us.

I leaned forward and—

_Stop.  Just, stop._

I did.  It was painful — shockingly, acutely, agonizingly painful — to deny us both what we wanted, but I did it.  I leaned back in my seat.

I said, “Silver or red?”

“Huh?”

“The Camaro,” I reminded him.

“Bull snot yellow’s not an option?” he teased.

“It is if you never want me to speak to you again.”

He laughed.  “Red.”

“Red it is.”

He beamed.  I hunted up Meiran and placed our orders.  We ate.

He asked what my plans were for the coming show — what kind of routine the clowns might do.  I had no idea, but I told him about some memorable acts from the years before.  Including a low-strung, tightrope walk that ended when I exaggeratedly fell into a wagon of horse-shit-green sponge pellets.

“I like that,” Duo approved in between mouthfuls of his cheese burger.  “How come y’all gave it up?”

“Someone thought the pellets were actual shit and just carted them off one day.”

“Someone, huh?” he teased, suspicion that he was sharing a table with the guilty party making his eyes sparkle.

I shrugged.  “Who knows.”

He shook his head.

I cleared my throat.  “You need anything?  I’m going to the store this afternoon.”

“Fella, I’d help you hide a body in exchange for some Reese’s Pieces.”

“Are you serious?”

“The monster size bag.  The one that can take down a home intruder,” he mimed.

I laughed.  “OK.  I got it.”

I accompanied Duo during his slow crutch-walk back to his trailer, held the door open for him, and waited while he scribbled down a quick shopping list.  “Thanks, Trowa.  Here, lemme get you some cash.  Is twenty enough?”

“Plenty.”

“Well, for the gas, too.”

I rolled my eyes.  “You can buy me a Snickers bar.”

“Trowa.”

I paused on the steps.

“Drive safe.”

They were just two words — two words commonly placed together and uttered automatically — but in Duo’s voice and with that look in his eyes, they felt like a kiss.

I shivered with warmth and smiled all the way to the Bloom family pick up truck.  I continued smiling as I drove into town even though the cab smelled like spilled coffee, chewing tobacco, and cat piss.  Duo hadn’t lied on the news: I really was part of his family.  I thought again of the superhuman feat he’d pulled off, saving me from serious injury and possibly death.  I thought of his astounding courage and strength and depth.  All of which he was sharing with me.  If this is what it felt like to be part of Duo’s life, well… I wasn’t about to ask for a refund.

I returned about an hour later with a plastic shopping bag and his change and, head in the clouds, I knocked on the door without even registering the fact that a woman’s voice was speaking on the other side… until it was too late.

The door swung open and a young woman with long, pale blond hair smirked down at me.  “You have cute fans, Duo,” she approved.

I frowned.  “I’m—”

“Hey!  Trowa!  Thanks for pickin’ that stuff up for me.  Let the man in, Dorothy.”

Dorothy stood back and I ducked inside.  Black garment bags were hanging on the front of the full-size refrigerator.  A planner was laid out on the table.  Duo was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest very tightly.  He unfolded from his slouch and stretched out a hand for the bag.

“What did you send out for, Duo?” Dorothy asked, intercepting the hand-off and taking a peek in the bag.  “Howard goes to a lot of trouble to make sure you have everything you need so—what are these?”

She pulled the candy out of the shopping bag with a thumb and a forefinger.  Her nose wrinkled.

“Uh…” Duo began.

“You _know_  that Hershey’s pulled their sponsorship and went with Khushrenada,” she snootily informed him, angling the full bag toward her open briefcase.  “You cannot be seen with any of their products.”

Duo said nothing.  His jaw clenched.

“Hold up!” I shouted.  She paused, turned, and looked at me.  “Wrong bag,” I explained.  I told Duo, “Sorry.  Yours is still in the truck.”

I grabbed the candy and stuffed it back in the shopping bag.  I clattered back down the stairs, but didn’t trust myself not to slam the door shut behind me.

“Not a very good delivery man, is he?” she mused.

“Jesus, Dorothy.  He’s not a—he’s a safety man here so be a little more respectful of—”

“Yes, fine.  Whatever.  As I was saying, here is your schedule for the VIPs this week and we want you to wear this one for your interview this evening—why is this door hanging open?  Was he raised in a barn?”

I ducked around the corner as she came out and pulled the door closed.

I leaned back against the side of the trailer and breathed and listened as Dorothy talked on.  I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it was clear that Duo’s input was not required.  Twenty minutes went by and then the door opened and she left.

I stayed out of sight until she’d crossed the staff parking area and turned the corner for visitor parking.  I waited an additional five minutes just in case she’d forgotten something, and then I decided that the coast was clear.  I rapped on the door again and raised my voice: “Duo?”

“’s open,” he called tiredly.

I opened it.  This time I shut the door behind me and invited myself into Duo’s trailer… which was actually Howard’s trailer, which meant that everything I could see… none of this was Duo’s.  When I looked at all this shit — the fancy coffee maker and state-of-the-art microwave and the garment bags and even the spiffy duds Duo wore in the arena — I wasn’t seeing the real Duo.

The real Duo was bracing himself over the sink in the kitchen, head bowed in defeat.  I walked over and wrapped my arms around him.  He leaned into me.

“I saved the Reese’s Pieces,” I told him.

“My hero,” he breathed, turning around and resting his head on my shoulder.

I took a deep breath.  His shampoo and sandalwood soap and the hint of aftershave…  Ah, God.  He was so warm and he felt so damn good.  His hair was so soft under my hand and my entire body went hot and hard in an instant.  I had to pull back before he did.

“So, who did I have the pleasure of meeting?” I asked, backing away until I came up against the cabinets on the opposite side of the kitchen area.  I was relieved that I hadn’t violated Duo’s trust so soon after pledging to respect his wishes, but I curled my hands around the edge of the counter top just to be on the safe side.

“Dorothy.  Howard’s personal assistant.”

“She’s very… thorough.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, casting his gaze from the garment bags to the schedule.

My eyes narrowed.  “They’re having you do interviews in person while you’re on crutches?”

“The battered American hero,” he said sarcastically.  “We can’t waste the opportunity.”

It was clear that they told Duo what to wear and who to meet with.  They expected him to live where they told him to and eat the food that they brought him.  I remembered all the cowgirls at the cantina — the drinks and dancing and charm — “Back to work,” he’d said.  Jesus.  Even his time playing the charismatic host had been part of the Duo Maxwell Show.

Then I thought of yesterday evening, when I’d looked in on him playing Solitaire.  I’d thought it was a damn shame, but actually it had been his choice.  He’d been able to decide what to do with his free time.  Given all the instructions I’d just overheard from Dorothy, I doubted he was permitted much time for himself at all.

It wasn’t until now — until he was allowing me to be part of his life — that I realized how little of one he really had.

Interviews and fans and VIPs… not to mention the bull rides themselves.  How much more did they demand of him?  He’d said they owned every minute of his life… did he mean—?

“How far does this go?” I gasped as the horror of my thoughts unfolded.  “Do they tell you who to sleep with?”

“What?  No.  Hell, no.  I made sure I kept the rights to my dick before I signed the contract.”  Then he sighed.  “But I also agreed not to ‘fraternize’ with men unless Howard gave me the go-ahead.  Like that little show with Merquise.  So far it’s been real fun with me, myself, an’ I.”

If I hadn’t been gripping the edge of the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, I would have  pressed a kiss to his temple.  If only to dispel a little of the soul-shredding solitude that mirrored my own.  But if Duo leaned into me one more time—

Turning away from the nebulous fantasy, I snagged the shopping bag and tossed his contraband at him.  “I guess that means you can hide those under the mattress without fear of awkward questions.”

“Don’ you know that’s the first place they check?” he teased.

I grinned.  “Let me know when you have a night free.  We’ll go over to Sal’s for a poker game.”

Duo nodded.  “Yeah.  I’d like that.”

I moved toward the door.  Stopped.  Turned around.  “Do something for me?”

“Anythin’.”

“Take good care of yourself.”

He blinked, surprised.

“Leave me something to look after in five months?”

“Still anglin’ for that Camaro, huh?”

“You offered.”

“I did do that.”

And I wasn’t about to forget.

“You look… happy,” Wufei realized after he’d focused on the outside world beyond his own haze of well-satisfied lust.  It had only taken two beers.

“You, too,” I said, studying the same arrangement of bottles that I memorized during these bar stool get-togethers, which had become more infrequent since Yuy had decided to try his luck.  I observed, “Someone’s been treating you right.”

“Yes, you are correct.”  He paused.  “Is someone treating you right?”

“Someone wants to and will as soon as the season’s over.”

Wufei’s brows arched.  “That’s a long ways off.”

“It’s worth the wait,” I insisted.

Wufei shook his head and smiled.  “You poor lovesick bastard.”

I was.  But I was also a lucky bastard.  Week after week, Duo kicked his way safely free of the bull he’d drawn, continuing to rise in the standings over Merquise.  Having glimpsed the commercial side of bull riding, I could sense the tension building between Khushrenada’s people and Howard’s.  More than ever, Merquise was just a pretty face.  But since his showdown with Shinigami, Duo had become the real deal: thoughtful and wholesome.  A home-grown American boy.  He was constantly surrounded by fans and not just pretty cowgirls anymore.  Sports writers, trinket peddlers, and even local politicians.

None of them could see the strain in his smile, the exhaustion in his eyes, but I could.

It was a relief when another bad weather front rolled in.  Under a severe thunderstorm warning, we closed the fairground gates, battened down the hatches, and tucked the animals in.  Like last time, I caught Duo meandering by and asked him to join us.  His exhaustion vanished behind an enthusiastic smile and the five of us hunkered down in Sal’s cluttered trailer to wait out the storm.

Chris had all the luck this time, but none of us were in a hurry to head out into the roaring wind that shook the vehicle.  Sal unearthed and popped in a VHS of the tightrope show I’d told Duo about.  It devolved into a rowdy re-viewing of the glory days.  Eventually, Sal, Ralph, and Chris went back even before my time with the rodeo, which was right about when Duo’s head landed on my shoulder.  He was out like a light.  I tugged the nearly-empty beer cup from his loose grasp before he could dribble the dregs over my crotch.

Chris nudged Ralph and nodded my way.  When Sal realized that we’d lost Duo to sleep and that I was the lucky recipient of his unconscious attentions, he gave me a wink and a thumbs-up.  I lifted a finger to my lips in the universal gesture for him to shut up about it.

The guys yammered on.  The wind rocked the trailer.  Duo drooled on my shirt.  All in all, it was one of the best poker nights I’d ever had.

Around midnight, the wind calmed.  Ralph and Chris headed out.  Sal announced his intention to take a shower.

“We’ll clean up,” I offered, speaking for myself and Duo, who snored softly.

Sal drew the vinyl accordion room separator across the hall and left us to it.

I waited until I heard the bathroom door snick shut, then I rubbed Duo’s arm.  “Hey,” I breathed.  “Duo, hey.”

“Trowa,” he drawled sleepily.  “Hey.”  He snuggled closer.

I tucked my nose down against his braid and inhaled.  God, please.  Just let me have this man for my own.  For real.  That’s all I ask.  I forced myself to say, “Time to wake up.  The party’s over.”

“Aw, shit.”  He sat up.  “I missed all the fun.”

“Well, I had a good time.”

He eyed the damp spot on my shirt and snorted.  “You’re even goin’ home with party favors.”

Chuckling, I turned away and started stacking the used cups and paper plates for disposal.  I poured Duo a clean disposable cup of water and I was done cleaning up by the time he’d gulped it down.

“I’ll walk with you,” I informed him.

He answered on a yawn.  “OK.”

I locked Sal’s door behind us, the wind whipping the last of its tantrum, blowing my bangs this way and that.  No one else was dumb enough to be outside tonight.

“How are you, really?” I asked quietly.

He inhaled, slow and deep.  “Tired.  Lookin’ forward to the end o’ the season.”

“Three and half more months,” I observed, visualizing the calendar, and then I forcibly twisted my thoughts away from the turn they’d been about to take.

We came to the point in the lot where we’d have to go our separate ways.  I didn’t want to go back to my cold, empty bed.  Not alone.

We both stopped.  Hesitated.

Duo’s hand brushed mine.  Mine brushed back.

I looked into his eyes and I could read the question that tilted his brows just so:

Just for tonight.  One night.  We could have that much, couldn’t we?

I sucked in a breath.  Tasted the possibility.  Wanted it, wanted him, wanted tonight and so much more—

We both stepped away at the same time.  Duo shook his head, perhaps coming to the same conclusion that I had.  One night would not be enough.  For either of us.

His voice was husky.  “See you later, Trowa.”

Mine was made thin with longing.  “’Night, Duo.”

I lay awake — that night and several others that followed — imagining what it would be like to have Duo lying next to me, my cheek against his hair (Would he unbraid it for bed?) as I wished him good night.

But for now, I focused on doing everything I could to make sure he made it through the next ride.

“Sal!  Get in here!” I snapped, dodging away and circling back.

“Still stuck!” Duo shouted.  The eight-second buzzer had long since sounded, but Duo’s glove was tangled up in the rigging.  We were trying to distract the bull from the rider on his back, trying to buy Duo enough time to wrench his hand free and dismount.  Though every bull was dangerous, we were lucky in that the one Duo had drawn today wasn’t nearly as big as Sandrock or as vengeful Shinigami.

“Come—on—you—!” Duo barked through his teeth, trying to rock the knot loose.

This was taking too long.  The bull was swinging his head left and then right, trying to decide who to lunge for, bucking half-heartedly.  He was as close to motionless as he was going to get.  I shot in.

“I’m releasing the rigging!” I hollered at Duo.

“Yeah, OK!”

I pulled hard on the rope.  The bull noticed me.  I held on tightly as he turned.  The rigging went slack and I bolted, feeling a horn pass across the slack fabric of my shirt.  Ralph cut in behind me and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a black-clad figure climbing the wall.

Thank, God.

Chris took over and then the pick up men were there.

“Well, that was exciting,” Sal observed.

My heart was still pounding, but we had two more rides to go before the end of the competition.

We got the job done, and then it was time for us to leave and the riders to come out and accept the appreciation of the crowd.

“Hey, you OK?”

I startled.  Duo was hanging back in the shadows.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?  He hit you.  I saw you wince.”

It took me a moment to figure out what he was saying.  “No.  Just rope burn.”  I showed him my hand.

His fingertips feathered over the raw skin.  I hissed.

“Sorry,” he breathed.

“I’m OK.  You have to go.  You’re late.”

He squeezed my arm and then he went.

I watched from his shadow as he entered the arena and took his hat off to the crowd, smiled and waved and congratulated the other competitors.  He signed autographs and posed for photos and I watched through all of it, amazed that he could give so much of himself.

I wondered about his family.  He never talked about them.  Even though it was for their sake that he’d sold himself into indentured servitude for nine fucking months.  So I knew they were important to him.  I also knew that he trusted me.  He wanted me in his life.  Why was he so secretive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an upcoming chapter, we’ll get some backstory on Trowa regarding visits to the trailers of rodeo participants that I think adds to this chapter (and the previous one) if you decide to read this story again, from beginning to end, after it’s all been posted.
> 
> Also, I am exaggerating the situation regarding Duo’s contract. I am pretty sure that nobody would care if a bull rider in real life ate candy made by a company that’s sponsoring one of his rivals. (I guess I could justify it by saying that there are some sore feelings between Howard and the former sponsor… or maybe Dorothy is just that vindictive. Either way…) I mean, if you're sponsored by a car maker and you drive a vehicle from a rival manufacturer, I could see that as being a problem, but candy? Not so much. However, like the bull takedown in Part 4, this also became a thing. And you will LOVE IT. Trust me. 
> 
> The moment(s) where Duo and Trowa make the mutual decision to NOT start something was also a gift from Ry. The walk back to their respective homes after the poker game is perhaps the purest (but not only) example of this in the story.
> 
> And, on a more personal note, I've been in this situation before: prevented from pursuing a relationship while I was under contract. We spent 4 months getting to know each other before I was free to take things to the next level. And we'll be celebrating our 10th anniversary about a month from now. Perhaps that's why this story grabbed me so hard -- it parallels my own life choices in more than one way.


	6. Sandrock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “Sorry Love” by Morgan Clamp

“You never talk about your family,” I observed.

It was the day after the bull ride event.  The grounds were closed; everything was quiet.  No people pushing for autographs or photos of Duo Maxwell.  Dorothy had stopped by in the morning to tell Duo that some interview or other had been pushed back, so he had the day off.  Cathy was at the bar talking to her girlfriend and Duo and I had claimed one of the dart boards on the far wall; we pretty much had the place to ourselves.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I don’t talk about ‘em.”  He threw his darts in quick succession: one, two, three.  Then strode over and yanked them free of the cork.  We hadn’t been keeping track of our scores, but he didn’t even wait for me to congratulate him on the double-twenty he’d hit.

Duo grumbled, “I wouldn’ force that mess on anyone.”

Ah.  So that was why.  I threw my first dart.  “You wouldn’t be.  I’m volunteering.”

“I—ah.  I will tell you.  If you want.”

I nodded.  Threw my second dart.  I did want.

“But I can’t here.  It’s—I gotta keep my focus.”

“I agree.”  I let the third fly.  His focus was more important than my curiosity.  “It’s fine.  You don’t have to—”

“I got a brother.  Solo.”

Solo and Duo.  Of course.  I should have seen that coming.

“Raised by our granddaddy—our momma’s daddy.  An’ our momma’s sister, Helen.”

Duo blew out a breath like he’d just lanced a festering wound.  The darts ground against each other in his grip.

“You don’t have to tell me any more, Duo.”

“Not right now,” he agreed.  “But I will.  If you want.”

“Duo.”  He looked up.  “I’m interested.  In everything about you.  But only if you want to—or if you can—tell me.  Someday.”

His smile would bring me to my knees one day.  Literally.

“Then, I will.  Someday.”

Someday.  I was counting down to the first day of that.

“Merquise drew Shinigami,” Ralph said as we headed for the arena.

I raised my eyes skyward.  “There is a god,” I deadpanned.

“But Duo got Sandrock.”

“And He hates me,” I concluded.

Chris bopped my shoulder.  “We’ve got it covered, Trowa.”

I knew we did, but that never helped my nerves.  I wished it were me on that bull.  I wished I could do this for Duo.  The only thing I could do for him, though, was get him over to the wall safely.

We worked the crowd, warming them up for the show with a new routine.  Wheelbarrow surfing.  It was Chris’ idea.  And it was a lot more physically demanding than our other routines.  Ralph had rigged a wheelbarrow to have three large wheels instead of one, and I was the putz in the basin.

I stood up in the metal tub, showily adjusting my balance this way and that as Ralph pushed at a sloppy run across the dirt and up a wooden plank, which fell flat on cue, hurtling me in a series of somersaults across a platform made from bales of straw and into the rubber tub of Chris’ wheelbarrow.

It may have been molded rubber instead of metal, but it wasn’t exactly a Tempur-Pedic experience.

Chris started dancing along with my arms and legs draped over the edge of the basin until he tripped and fell flat on his face, as rehearsed, and the wheelbarrow continued on thanks to the lawnmower engine Sal had grafted to its underside.  Then Sal himself swooped in with a lasso, which caught me, and then I dragged him — his butt stuck in a little red wagon — around the straw-bale stage.

By this time, Ralph and Chris were kicking back under a beach umbrella with sippy cups.  They toasted us as we were puttering past and I grabbed both cups from their hands.  They did a dramatic double take and pelted clumsily after us.  Chris stopped, arms windmilling, and went back for the beach umbrella, then toddled along in our wake, through the stock gate, to the sound of laughter and applause.

We quickly ditched our props and shook the act off.  It was time to head back out there and—

I spied Duo leaning against the railing across the way and Jesus he was gorgeous.  The way his hip cocked when he crossed one booted foot over the other—I would take great pleasure licking those hips, I decided.

“Good show, fellas.”  He tipped his hat to us.  “See y’all in the arena.”  He walked away with a playful wave back over his shoulder.

Ralph came up close enough to ask, “Are you an’ him—?”

“Friends, Ralph.  We’re just friends.”

Sal snorted.  “My friends don’t gimme looks like that.”

Chris laughed.  “That’s cuz’ they’re all barbie dolls an’ G. I. Joes.”

“Hey!  Who told you?”

We re-entered the arena, chuckling.  But I could only speak for myself with regards to the butterflies I was feeling.  That moment in the shadows after last week’s bull ride and now this — Duo was seeking me out more bravely.  Either he was getting more confident about the fact that he wouldn’t be missed or he didn’t give a damn if he was

I hoped it wasn’t the latter, not after all we’d _not_  done for the sake of keeping our secret.

_Please be careful, Duo._

As ever, I meant the words in more ways than one.

“Are we ready, boys?” Sal called and we gave him our thumbs up.

The first song came on and the crowd roared.  It was “Walk This Way.”

Oh, Jesus.  OK.  We were doing this.

We did the dance for the audience, attempting to ease the tension of the arena.  All eyes were trained on the chute door.  The song cut and an eerie hush fell over the entire place.  Someone coughed.  A toddler fussed.

I could hear a light rustle from the other side of the solid chute door.  The soft baritone of Duo’s voice.

I took a breath.  Let it out.  Drew a sec—

The door crashed open and Sandrock was as mad as I’d ever seen him, a sandstorm of dun-colored hide, hooves flashing high in the air, pounding into the dirt hard enough to shake Ralph’s dental fillings loose.

Fifteen hundred pounds or twenty-two hundred: the size of the beast made no difference to Duo, who rode so smoothly and confidently he made it look like a dance.  Unlike Merquise, he didn’t try to steer the bulls with his weight, he just took whatever the beast offered up and went with it.  Rolled his hips into it.  Sat down deep and made it his.  I would never see another rider like Duo Maxwell.

He took his hat off, held it high, and the crowd roared their approval.

The guys and I roved on the fringes of the thrashing hind legs and swiveling horns, waiting for Duo to either fall or leap off.

The buzzer sounded.  The bull bucked high.  Duo tossed his hat.  The bull’s back arched and then his spine bent for one more kick and Duo was the closest to the ground that he was going to be.  He let go and leaped.  Landed, started to scoot back.

Ralph ran in with Chris on his heels to distract the bull, and Sandrock turned toward them, but he had one more kick left in him.

Both hooves struck Duo in the center of his chest.

I watched in horror as he flew backward and crashed into the metal paneling of the wall, shoulder first.  The sound reverberated like a gong.  It caught Sandrock’s attention and I went to work before he got Duo pinned down inside the chute.

The four of us had that bull spinning around, first one way, then the other, keeping him busy with all four hooves on the ground until the pick up men could drive him through the open gate and back to the livestock pens.

Chris and I jogged over to Duo.  He was getting up slowly, wincing.  His breaths chuffing in these choppy coughs and hisses.  He pressed his left arm tight to his torso and I’d spent enough time studying Duo’s body — and I’d seen enough rider injuries — to guess it was dislocated.  The greater threat was to his rib cage and sternum.

“Hold on to me,” I ordered, reaching around to press his left elbow to his waist, holding it steady, and he immediately looped his right arm around my shoulders.

The inner side of the chute opened with a grating squeal, allowing us to pass through without having to climb up.  The first aid team was right there, taking him from me.

“Kick to the chest.  Dislocated left shoulder,” I barked and then my arms were empty.

Chris’ hand came down on my shoulder.  “Stay if you gotta stay.”

I wanted to — oh how I wanted to go over there and hold his hand and push his hair back from his face, but I couldn’t.  That wasn’t what he needed right now.  Certainly not what he needed from me out here in front of half our staff.  And I’d just get in the way.

“No, he’ll be all right.”  It was a prayer — a flat-out _order _—__  to the Almighty.

Turning around and heading back to the arena — leaving Duo there in pain — was one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life.  So much harder than not-kissing him.  So incredibly harder than not taking his hand in the dead of night and inviting him into my bed.  But Sal, Ralph, and Chris — they needed me.  The bull riders in the lineup needed me, too.  Even the ones who’d never bothered to ask for my name.

“Shinigami’s up today,” I reminded us all.  No way was I going to leave my team short-handed with that monster.

And a “monster” was right.  He hated having Zechs on his back — for the first time all season, Zechs actually sprinted for safety once he’d rolled free of those thrashing hooves — but then Shinigami’s nostrils flared and damned if he didn’t lock right onto me.

Oh, yes.  This bull remembered me.  And he had a score to settle.  Chris tried to head him off, then Ralph shot in, but they barely gave the animal pause as he swerved for me again and again.  I didn’t run, not like I had last time.  I moved to the right, forming a tight circle that wasn’t letting the bull really dig into the dirt and build up momentum.  As soon as he took one true step toward me, I dodged away, jogging in the opposite direction.  The other guys didn’t know what to do for me as we waited for the pick up men to get an opening.

Shinigami swiped at me with his horns and I leaped back just in time, stumbled, staggered, pushed off from the wall and the bull was coming for me now—

And then Sal was there, waving his red handkerchief across the bull’s vision.  I jumped for the wall, climbed over it, and looked back just in time to see a nightmare come to life.

The red handkerchief fluttered to the ground.  Shinigami was bearing down on Sal.  Chris lunged toward them.  I swung both legs over the wall, dropped back in.  The bull shouldered Chris aside and caught Sal in the back, knocking him forward and into the dirt.  Sal tried to roll out of the way of those hooves, but—

The crowd gasped.

Sal wasn’t fast enough.

I was already racing over, red handkerchief in my hand and to hell with it, but the first pick up man had a strong lasso around the bull’s horns.  Shinigami resisted, keeping us from getting to Sal.  He twisted back and forth until the second pick up man galloped over and gave the bull and sharp smack on the rump with a coil of rope.

The animal startled and lurched for the open livestock gate.

“Sal!” Ralph called.  Chris and I were a heartbeat behind.

“I’m fine!” Sal called, levering himself up and spitting out a mouthful of dirt.  He made an effort to stand and I noted a tear in the knee of his pants, but then he sagged.

Oh, Jesus.  Chris and Ralph each grabbed an arm and dragged him toward the same removable section of wall that Duo had disappeared through.  The first aid team was just wheeling a gurney — Duo! — toward a waiting ambulance.  The moment they saw us, they left Duo in the hands of the EMTs and jogged over.

“He was hit in the lower back.  Trampled.  Having trouble standing, but he was conscious.”

Not so much now.

One first aid worker lifted up the back of Sal’s purple and sky blue tunic.  Already, his skin was turning splotchy.

“Hold off on that one!” he called out to the EMTs.  “This one goes first.  Possible internal bleeding.”

I stared as Duo was brought back, re-positioned on the first aid table and Sal was transferred to the gurney in his place.  I was worried about Sal, but Duo was right here looking so pale, his face pinched in pain.

I sank down next to him.  “What hurts worst?”

“The shoulder,” he gasped out.  Duo turned his head to watch as Chris and Ralph helped the EMTs get Sal into the ambulance.  He didn’t comment on how bad it looked or that he hoped Sal was going to make it; I could see all that and more in Duo’s tortured expression.

I took the liberty of parting the open flaps of his shirt to check for swelling and bruising.

“I’m all right,” he rasped.  “Ain’t the first time I’ve been kicked in the chest.”

“I hope the fucking animal was turned into hamburger,” I growled.

He grinned.  “An’ he tasted de-licious!”

I almost leaned in and kissed him.

“Get back to work, Trowa.  I’ll be fine.  Just you be careful.”

I would have laughed at the irony — words I’d wished on him not thirty minutes ago were now being foisted onto me — but he was right.  I had to get back to work.

Chris, Ralph, and I all felt Sal’s absence.  It was more work — and a lot more dangerous — with only three of us.  So long as no one else got hurt tonight, we would be all right.

And, by the grace of our training and focus, we were all standing at the end of the event.

The last rider was climbing the wall and the bull was trotting back to the pens and the three of us were __done.__  I paused long enough to ask the first aid guys if Duo Maxwell had made it to the hospital and I waited long enough to hear that he had, then I was running to catch up with the guys.

“We’ll take my car,” Ralph insisted and we all bowled into his woody station wagon.

The hospital wasn’t far, but it wasn’t staffed for much.  There was always a trauma surgeon on duty and we were informed by the front desk that Sal was being prepped for surgery.

“Can we wait with Duo Maxwell?” I asked.

“He’s getting x-rays right now—”

I knew where the x-ray room was; I sprinted for it.  The door was closed when I got there and I waited until it opened and Duo was brought out in a wheelchair, his left arm in a sling.

He was still in a lot of pain, but his eyes lit up when he saw me.  Then he got embarrassed.  Tugged at the hem of the flimsy hospital gown with his right hand.

“Don’t,” I ordered, hating that there was anything he was ashamed to show me of himself.

“How’s Sal?” he asked.

“In surgery.”

“Fuck.  Which one was it?”

“Shinigami.”

Duo shook his head.  “’s this gonna be enough to put him on the dinner table?”

“I’ll get us reservations.”

The nurse held out a hand when I would have followed Duo right into the examination room.  “Just Mister Maxwell,” she told me and I settled for leaning against the pastel wall in the hallway.

I could just hear muffled whimpers — Duo climbing up onto the table — and then a young resident breezed by me, ignoring me completely, and stepped into the room.  There was silence, or voices speaking too quietly for me to hear, and then a grating scream.  Brief and eviscerating.  Duo’s shoulder had just been reset.

To my surprise, the door opened a couple of minutes later — too soon for the doctor to be done with him — and the nurse stuck her head out.  “Come on in.  He says you’ll need to see how to help him wrap it.”

I came in.

Duo was sitting on the table with the hospital gown pooled around his waist.  His left shoulder was already starting to bruise.  His bare legs and the pair of black socks on his feet made him look ridiculous and vulnerable and so young.

I washed my hands and followed the doctor’s orders as I helped the nurse wrap Duo’s left arm, bent at the elbow in the sling, tight against his side.  When we were done, the nurse and doctor left with the promise of returning with medication and take-home care instructions.

“Trowa,” he breathed, reaching up with his right hand to rub at my makeup, smearing it beneath my eyes and along my cheeks.  Oh.  I’d been crying.  He said, “You should go find out how Sal’s doin’.”

“We’ll do that together.”

He didn’t argue with me.

When he shivered, I pulled the top of the hospital gown up over his right side and rubbed his back briskly.  I tried to think of something to say, but he stayed silent, so I did, too.

Ten minutes later, the nurse was back with a dose of medication for Duo’s shoulder and a rolled bandage — a backup.  “They’re washable.  When you unbind it to take a shower, wrap your arm up with a clean one.”

“Got it,” I said, as if I was volunteering for the job.  Which I supposed I was.

The doctor returned with a prescription for pain medication and an anti-inflammatory.  Duo took it with thanks.  I held out my hands and he grabbed my left with his right before easing himself off the high table.

The doctor and the nurse left again and both Duo and I looked at his pile of clothes in the corner basket.  He bit his lip, clearly not enjoying the thought of asking for help getting dressed.  God knew, this was not how I’d wanted to get my hands on his unfastened jeans, but I walked over and grabbed them off the pile.

I shook them out, held them open, and crouched down.

“Thanks, Trowa,” he said, his right hand on my shoulder.  I nodded, my bangs brushing the hospital gown.

He stepped into the legs and I tugged them up.  He gathered up the hospital gown so I could see to zip, button, and buckle.  The hospital gown came off, then I grabbed his shirt and got his right arm in the sleeve, draped the other side over his left shoulder and let it hang loose down his front.  I wedged the toes of his boots for him as he stuck his feet in them.

I stood up.  He looked at me.  Suddenly, I knew what I wanted to say.  “I like taking care of you.”

His breath caught.

“Just—”  My voice faltered and I choked.  “Just let me have something of you to take care of.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised.  He reached out like he was going to grab my arm, but then his fingers skidded down my sleeve to take my hand.

I stopped breathing.

“But you gotta be careful, too,” he ordered and I nodded.  I ached.  I wanted.  I wanted more than just his pleasure; I wanted his drool on my shirt and his hair in the shower drain and his hat — whatever the one he usually wore really looked like — hanging on the peg in my stupid camper as we drove off and left all this behind.

He swallowed thickly.  Repeated: “You be careful, too, Trowa, ‘cuz—God help you—come the end of the last day of this damned season, I’m comin’ for you.”

 _Please._  I would have said it if hadn’t been completely mesmerized by his eyes.

There was a quick knock on the door.  Duo and I stepped apart.  The nurse came in and stopped short when she saw that Duo was already dressed.  “You’ve been discharged,” she said.

We headed back to the waiting room.

“What is it?” Duo asked when we got there.  I couldn’t speak.  The looks on their faces told me it was bad.  Real bad.

Chris opened his mouth, shut it, and shook his head.

Ralph said, “He’s lost a kidney.  They’re tryin’ to save the other one.”

I felt my eyes grow hot and I looked at Duo, so sorry that I was ruining my makeup after he’d just fixed it for me, but he only sat me down on a sofa and wrapped his strong right arm around my shoulders.  I was furious — that fucking bull! — and I was terrified that it could have been me.  Could have been Duo.  The fear and rage — I was on the verge of screaming.  But I didn’t.  

Duo sat with me and let me cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here would be more of those rodeo injuries I hinted at in the warnings.
> 
> And I don't know about y'all, but I desperately want a fanart of the last moments of this chapter: Duo and Trowa in the waiting room, Duo's shirt half on and left arm bound up in a sling as he tucks Trowa up against him, Trowa's clown make up with tear tracks in it... aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!
> 
> UPDATE: THERE IS FANART! Stop over at Deviant Art and check out this fantastically heart-string-tugging gift art by the talented and generous tanuki02: "Waiting" at http://tanuki02.deviantart.com/art/Waiting-001-675744283


	7. The Circuit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “The Distance” by July For Kings

“Back for a more, eh, Duo?”

We all looked up at the sound of a newcomer to the waiting room.  Sal hadn’t come out of surgery yet, and Duo was still sitting pressed against my side.  He stiffened and pulled away, stood to face the figure in the doorway.

I stood up with him.

“Howard,” he greeted and I was surprised by his civil tone.  I did not trust myself to speak politely to the man who was controlling Duo’s life so completely.

“We need you back at the arena.  They’re getting ready to announce the riders for the championship circuit.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, OK.”  His arm twitched like he wanted to pat my shoulder or grab my hand or haul me into an embrace.  I was feeling the last one in particular.

Howard lowered his trademark mirrored sunglasses and looked Duo over.  “Gonna need you to get your shirt on for this, kid.”

Duo sighed in defeat.

Chris and Ralph surged to their feet.

“He has a dislocated shoulder,” Ralph pointed out, disgusted.

“Yup.  That’s what it looks like to me,” Howard agreed.  “Doesn’t change what I said.  What’s it gonna be, Duo?”

Duo reached for the end of the bandage and untucked it.  I could not fucking believe my eyes.  “This is cruel,” I accused, glaring hard at Howard.

Howard shrugged.  “I don’t have a gun to his head.  This is his choice.”

“Sponsors are gonna be there watchin’,” Duo explained softly, shamefully.  And my hatred for Howard doubled right then and there.  How dare he force Duo to take full responsibility for this.  Force him to suffer for the sake of money.

I turned my back on Howard.  “Here.  Let me help.  The nurse showed me how to do it.”

His right hand dropped away and he stood still, watching as I worked, tugging the shirt free of his right side and draping it over my own shoulder for the time being.  I was close enough to see his jaw clench when the support of the bandage was released and his arm was resting in only the sling.  I helped him pull that off and the pain that the medication hadn’t negated was reflected in his wet eyes, but he didn’t cry.  Didn’t make a sound as I started carefully working the left sleeve over his left hand.  I tried to hold his arm steady as I guided the shirt up over his left side.  Then I replaced the sling, taking some of the strain off of his abused shoulder.  We got his right arm into the other sleeve.  I buttoned him up, straightened his collar, tucked his shirt in, and then reached for the bandage.

As I wrapped him up, I realized—

“You’re qualified for the championship circuit,” I told him.

“Maybe,” he evaded and I stared at him until he looked me in the eye.

I told him, “I _know._   I’ve been around long enough to know—you made it.”  Which meant — oh God, no — he’d be pulling out soon.  He and Merquise and the rest of the best of the best from rodeos all over would travel the country, riding for the chance to win the national championship.

The announcement was today.

I felt like I’d been slapped.  Real hard.  By Cathy.  Again.

Shit.  God damn it.  Fuck!

I hadn’t been keeping track of the date.  I hadn’t wanted to.  I’d been looking forward to Merquise moving on from our show as he had for the past three years, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to take a good, long look at the national rodeo calendar.  Not once this year.  Not since Duo Maxwell had walked up to me and held out his hand.

Was this the last time I’d be close enough to talk to him until season’s end?

I wasn’t ready.  I had no idea what to say.

Again.

I was fucked.

I tucked in the end of the bandage.  It was done, but I didn’t want to lower my hands, step back, and let him go.

“I’ll call,” he said.  “I’ll call the cantina when I can.  To find out about Sal.”

I nodded.

My body blocked Howard’s view of Duo’s front, and as he shifted to step around me, his right hand grabbed mine and squeezed my fingers tightly.  And then his touch was gone.

“I’ll need a prescription filled,” Duo told his manager.

“We’ll take care of it,” Howard promised and Duo dug it out of his pocket.  Handed it over.

The sight made me see red.  Duo being treated like this.  Like a child, a pet, a fucking trophy sports car.  It was—just—!

I stayed stock-still until the waiting room door whispered shut behind him and then I stepped up to Howard.  Glared.

“You boys have saved his life more than once,” the old man shocked me by saying.  “Oh, yeah.  I’ve seen his rides.”

“He owes me a Camaro,” I blurted and Howard threw back his head and laughed.

“I’ll remind him.”  He turned to leave, but then he paused.  “Don’t worry, boys.  I take care of my riders.”

I knew that.  Howard’s guys usually did well; they usually made it all the way through to the end of the season.  Usually, they didn’t die.

But they could and that was just how bull riding was.

I’d never felt that truth as hard and deep as I did now.

The three of us watched the old man leave the waiting room.

For a long moment, no one said a thing.  Then Ralph dug down into his pocket and held out his car keys.  “You should go, Trowa.”

I reached out and grabbed the keys and, as they settled in my palm, I imagined it.  I’d drive back to the fairgrounds.  I’d run to the arena.  I’d sprint to the chute area.  I’d stand in the shadows as the riders smiled and waved in the bright lights.  I’d listen to the point tallies.  Duo or Merquise would come out first.  It wouldn’t matter which.  The top three or four always went on tour.  There’d be a celebration.  Duo would be shown to the arena’s VIP lounge.  The party would go until midnight.  Then, come dawn, Howard’s people would pull up stakes and hit the road.

That was how it went every year.

Duo didn’t need me to be there lurking the shadows.  He wouldn’t be able to talk to me.  If he saw me, it’d just make him sad.  And angry.

I didn’t have it in me to make him miserable.  The only thing I could do for him right now was let him get on with doing his job.

I dropped the keys back into Ralph’s hand and went to sit back down.  As I did, the spare bandage that the nurse had given Duo rolled across the cushion.  I caught it and turned it over and over in my hands.

“He’ll be back,” I said.

“Damn right he will,” Chris agreed.

“He’s gonna make it,” Ralph added.  “Not just because he’s good at what he does an’ not just because he’s smart enough to stay safe.  He don’t ride for fun.  He don’t try to control those animals.  He can read them.”  Ralph met my desperate look and said, “Nobody can teach that, and it’s the best friend he’s got in the arena.”

“Aside from us,” Chris chimed in with a sad smile.

I lowered my head to my hands.  Stared at the floor.  A droplet splattered between my boots.

“They got good safety people on the circuit,” Chris reminded me.  “Them boys are professionals.  Duo’s gonna be all right.”

I nodded and, mercifully, they shut up.

It was after ten o’clock when Doctor J deigned to see us.

“He’s out of surgery and resting.  We’re going to have to see if his remaining kidney will heal up all right and there’s some swelling of vertebral tissue.  The man’s lucky he didn’t get his back broken.”

We all knew it.

“You can see him tomorrow afternoon if he’s awake and strong enough for visitors.”

We left.  We went to Chris’ trailer.  It was old as dirt, but it was big and he kept it well-maintained.  He poured the bourbon into plastic cups and we left the deck of cards in the kitchen drawer.  We sat around.  We drank.

“Ralph, you an’ me are gonna have to train up some new guys for next year.”

“Shut up,” I barked, scowling at my bourbon.

Chris bumped my shoulder.  “You don’ have to say nothin’.  We all know you’re done with this shit.  Come season’s end.”

I looked up.  Ralph was smirking.  “No one can replace you, Trowa.  I figure we’re gonna need two guys minimum just to pick up _your_ slack.”

I leaned back and shook my head, let out a phlegmy laugh.  It went without saying that Sal wouldn’t be coming back to work.  Not with those injuries.  No rodeo would take him on as a safety man with that in his medical history.  But these two were really being a couple of dickheads if they were already planning on watching me drive off with Duo into the sunset.

Not that I hadn’t imagined it — craved it — a few hours ago, but—

“Duo’s comin’ back,” Chris repeated.

Ralph agreed.  “That was the look of a man goin’ off to war.  A war that he’s gonna live through, even if he doesn’t win.”

And that, more than anything else that I’d seen or heard, gave me solid ground to stand on.  “Do you really think he’d give up a shot at the title if it meant—”

“He would,” Ralph said just as Chris shouted, “Damn right!”

Finally, I was able to feel a smile on my face.

It was tentative and wholly dependent on how the next twelve weeks played out.  But, hell, even Sal was optimistic.

“Don’t that boy owe you a steak dinner?” he checked, looking to Ralph for confirmation.

“I heard it was a Camaro,” Chris said with a cocky grin.

Sal chuckled, grabbed for his side with a grimace, and sighed.  “Well, there ya go.  Montana men don’t joke around about Camaros.”

They were the best group of guys in the whole damn world.

Which kept right on turning.

Ralph, Chris, and I went back to work.  The rodeo was still open until mid-November.  There were still bull rides on the event schedule, but we weren’t going to be dealing with Sandrock or Shinigami.  They were shipped off with the rest of the championship group.

“They got real good safety people,” Chris reminded me as I watched the cattle trailer pull away.  Duo’s trailer was long gone and it took a conscious effort for me not to look over to where it used to be.

I started spending my afternoons at the cantina.  I wasn’t waiting for Duo’s call.  I didn’t honestly expect he’d be able to call.  But just in case…

I jumped every time the phone rang, which wasn’t all that often, and if it wasn’t Mrs. Long calling to ask Meiran what they needed from the store because she’d forgotten her shopping list again, then it was an order for takeout.

Wufei joined me on Thursday.  Heero was traveling on the bronco circuit.  I knew Wufei missed him, so we sat on our respective bar stools and missed our respective men together.

I was staring hard at the bottle of Wild Turkey — remembering that toast of Duo’s — when the phone rang.  Meiran had her hands deep in a sink full of dishwater, so Wufei leaned over the counter and picked it up, grabbing for a pen and pad of paper.

“Bloom Rodeo Bar and Grill.  Can I help you?”

I tried not to hope.  I really did.  But then Wufei turned, looked at me, and dropped the pen with a smirk.  “Yes, he is.  Hold a moment.”

He held out the receiver.  “It’s for you.”

Somehow, my shaking hands didn’t drop it.  “Hello?” I choked out, my voice cracking.

“Trowa, hey.”

“Duo,” I breathed.

“Are you an’ Wufei talkin’ about that Yuy fella again?” he teased.

I barked out a chuckle.  “No, unfortunately.  Wufei refuses to cough up the juicy details.”

Wufei arched a brow at me and I knew I’d be in for it once I hung up the phone.

“Tell him to get on with it.  You might learn somethin’.”

My mouth dropped open.  “Oh-ho.  So that’s how it is?”

“Well, one of us had better know his asshole from his elbow.”

I laughed.  “I promise I won’t get confused.”

“Good.  Is Sal all right?”

With a deep, cleansing breath, I gave him the most recent update.

“Thank God he’s alive.  That bull is pure Satan.”

“Don’t get on him again,” I begged.

“I promise I’ll be smart.”

I sucked in a breath to argue.

“I ain’t forgotten my other promises, Trowa.”

I deflated.  “How are you?”

“I’m all right.  My shoulder should be good before opening day.”

I wanted to ask if he was getting enough sleep, if Howard was letting him have a break in between interviews and VIP schmoozing.  But even if they were working Duo nonstop, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it except make him feel bad by asking.

Instead, I let my voice lower to an intimate rumble and said, “You should know I’ve got a monster sized—”  Here, I paused and glanced at Wufei in time to watch his jaw drop open.  “—bag of Reese’s Pieces here with your name on it.”

I smirked at Wufei, who looked offended.  But then Duo groaned in my ear and, God help me, there was nothing I wouldn’t give to have him in my arms and between my sheets right now.

“The one that can take down home intruders?” he checked.

“And rampaging bulls,” I confirmed, voice husky.  I cleared my throat.  “Where shall I have it sent?”

“I wish I knew, sunshine, but—look, you hold onto it for me.”

“I can do that.”  I smiled, as thrilled as ever by the endearment.

Duo sighed and his voice dropped to a near-whisper, “I miss you.”

“Only until the end of the season.”

“YES.”

Again with that emphatically passionate single syllable.  I bit my lip.  If I got hard now, Wufei would never let me hear the end of it.

“Aw, shit, looks like my break’s over.  I’ll call when I can, but don’ be waitin’ by the phone, OK?”

“No promises,” I dared.

He laughed in my ear, and then I was leaning into the dial tone.  I lowered the receiver on a sigh, held it in my hand for just a moment longer, and then I passed it back to Wufei for him to hang up.

“You poor lovesick bastard,” he accused.  Not for the first time.

I didn’t deny it.  He was right.

Sal came home from the hospital in time for the first bull ride of the championship circuit.  The four of us piled into his trailer, passed around the chips and dip and sucked down bottles of Coca-cola as we listened to the radio.

_“Up next we have a newcomer from Bozeman, Montana.  Duo Maxwell—”_

Ralph’s hand clamped onto my shoulder.

“That’s our boy!” Chris hollered.

I could not remember the last time we’d rooted this hard for a Bloom bull rider who’d gone circuit-level.  When Merquise had been announced, we’d rolled our eyes, made farting noises, and called him names.  Not so with Duo.  Of course not.  He was our family.

_“Yes, you heard his name right.  Duo.  D-U-O.  But from what we’ve seen from him at Bloom’s Rodeo, we know there’s nothing second-fiddle about this fella.”_

The co-announcer agreed:

_“True, true.  He caused quite the upset to Zechs Merquise — right after he assured the rodeo world that this was going to be his year.”_

_“Well, we’ll just have to see what Duo Maxwell is going to do about it.  He’s drawn a nineteen-hundred pound bull called Shenlong.  This bull has a habit of kicking to the left, a tough ride to sit eight seconds through.”_

_“So far this season, only two riders have managed it, haven’t they?”_

_“Maybe today we’ll see number three.  Here we go.  The chute’s set up.  Maxwell’s getting seated now.  Looks good—”_

I brought my clasped hands to my mouth.  Bit down on a knuckle.

_“—and they’re out!  Look at that bull kick.  He brought his business to the arena today!”_

_“He’s not the only one!  Look at that boy’s seat.  Are you seeing any daylight?”_

_“Not a sparkle.  Left hand up nice and high.  His posture is unbelievable—and there goes the buzzer.  That’s a full eight seconds for Duo Maxwell!”_

_“He’s clear and… yup, he’s over the wall.  What a ride.  I haven’t seen the like since—”_

I didn’t care who they were going to try to compare Duo to.  There was no one.  No comparison.  At all.  I grinned through my relief as Chris and Ralph took turns punching my arms.  Sal, from his prone position on his pull-out bed, chucked cheese popcorn at my head.

“I heard it.  On the radio broadcast,” I told Duo when he called next.

“You listen to the circuit shows?”  He sounded surprised.

I shrugged.  “Not every year.”

“Well, shit.  Now I’m nervous.”

“Shut up,” I teased through a grin.  “What have you got to be nervous about?”

His voice lowered, softened.  He was cupping his hand over the receiver.  “Well, see, there’s this fella — green eyes, brown hair, clown face paint — I get butterflies in my belly every time he’s around.”

“He’d better keep his hands and lips to himself or he’s going to get his ass kicked.”

“Just for a little longer,” Duo reminded me.  “And then if he tries to keep that bullshit up, I will kick his ass myself.”

Was it bizarre that I loved talking to him over the phone?  It wasn’t that I didn’t miss his smile or the smell of his shampoo and sandalwood soap, but we’d never been able to speak like this face-to-face.

“Stay safe,” I pleaded.

“You, too, sunshine.”

Week by week, the crowd at Sal’s trailer grew to eventually include Cathy, Wufei, Meiran, and my uncle.  Week by week, we tuned in to the bull ride coverage.  Eight rides — eight weeks — went by and he was still strong and healthy and that much closer to finding his way back to me.

_“We have a full house today and it’s clear that Duo Maxwell is the crowd favorite.”_

_“You know, I’d like to meet the folks who named this boy because I can’t imagine who he could possibly be a follow-up act to.”_

_“Not even Merquise, who is just a handful of points behind as of last week’s event.”_

_“It’s a real close running between these two contenders.  They’ve got opposite approaches to riding and great technique, so it looks like it’s going to come down to the animals.”_

_“As this is the last circuit stop before the final showdown in San Antonio, they’re going to need every point they can get.”_

_“First up today is—”_

I tried not to listen too closely to the other rides — if they went badly, I’d tense up with worry over the irrational fear of that bad luck spilling onto Duo.  Conversely, if they went perfectly, I’d have to fight the false hope that Duo’s would be just as smooth.

_“Merquise is up next on a twenty-one-hundred pound bull called Tallgeese—”_

Everybody in the trailer booed and hissed, even my uncle, the consummate businessman.

_“They’re out!  And right off, Merquise is trying to control but this bull is having none of it!”_

_“He’s off!  Merquise is off!  Three point six seconds in.”_

_“Took quite a tumble—”_

_“Shouldn’t have worn white today.”_

_“But he’s up.  He looks healthy.”_

_“Just not too happy about it.”_

I snickered along with the guffaws.  Duo wasn’t the next rider, so I decided to use the bathroom.  When I finished washing up and came back out, Cathy grabbed my jacket sleeve and hauled me over.  “Duo’s up.”

I didn’t have time to ask about the bull.  Chris angled the speakers an inch in my direction.

_“Maxwell’s got a history with this one, doesn’t he?”_

_“What a history!  I think we’ve all seen the news story.”_

My stomach sank.  “No, not—”  I couldn’t say it.

I looked to the guys.  Sal’s face was grim.  Ralph had his hands fisted on his knees.  Chris was clutching his beer can hard enough to dent the aluminum.

I was shaking.

_“Shinigami has gotten — incredibly — harder to ride since the circuit started up.”_

_“I guess travel doesn’t agree with him.”_

_“Doesn’t look like this does, either.  He’s putting up a fuss in the chute.  A real fuss.”_

_“Maxwell’s being smart about it, though.  He’s taking his time, trying to settle down.”_

_“Boy, I don’t feel good about this one.  That bull’s still kicking around in there.”_

_“This is going to be a rough ride, I think we can say that—wait.  What’s this?”_

_“Maxwell’s climbing out.”_

I breathed.  One breath in.  One breath out.

_“Looks like he’s going to wait a few minutes.  He’s talking to the handlers.”_

_“This bull has gunned after every rider that’s gotten on his back during the circuit, whether they made it to eight seconds or not.  There’s no good way of getting off of this one.”_

_“All right.  Maxwell’s going back down, giving it one more shot.  This could be it.”_

_“Will you listen to that ruckus — sorry folks, we know those of you listening in over the airwaves can’t hear this, but let me just say the floor boards in the building are shaking!”_

_“Maxwell’s coming out again.  He’s shaking his head.  Is he—?”_

_“His arms are up.  He’s scratching.  He’s out!”_

My knees no longer supported me.  I sank down to the dirty linoleum floor.  Cathy’s fingers were twisting the shoulder of my denim jacket and I was gasping with relief, uncaring of who saw or what they thought.

_“That’s a smart move right there.  Real smart.  This bull is in no condition to be ridden today.”_

_“I don’t know what stirred him up, but it looks like he’ll be simmering down back in his pen.”_

The announcers moved on to the next rider and my uncle offered, “Good choice.  The only rider Duo’s got to worry about beating is Merquise, and since he had a bad ride today, Duo can afford a scratch.”

I didn’t care about the damn point margin — I didn’t care why he’d given up his ride, only that he had.

I pulled myself up off the floor and rubbed my hands over my face.  There were three more rides left, but we were only listening for the final point tally.  It came and Duo and Merquise were neck-and-neck for the top slot, Merquise just a couple of points up.

_“And here’s Duo Maxwell for a word.  Duo, you’ve given us some truly spectacular rides so far.  Tell us why you passed on Shinigami.”_

And then Duo’s voice was in the room with us. _“Well, he an’ I have a little history, an’ not the beer-buddy kind, if you know what I mean.  Every rider’s who’s gettin’ on the same bull for a second, third, or tenth time has gotta give it a good think.  Sometimes it’s personal.  For the rider or the bull or both.”_

_“And you didn’t think you could handle him this time around?”_

_“I don’t think he’s gonna be lettin’ anybody handle him today.”_  Duo chuckled.

_“Well, Merquise has pulled ahead, but only just.  There’s no question you’re planning a comeback at the finals in two weeks.”_

Duo corrected him: _“I’m plannin’ on one more ride.  And I’m plannin’ on being smart about it.  I’ve made promises that I intend to keep, so when all’s said and done, I’m gonna make sure there’s a whole lotta me left to give.”_

Oh.  God.   _Duo._

The announcer was oblivious: _“Are you telling us you’re already thinking ahead to next season?”_

_“Well, I’ll tell you this much — my time at Bloom’s Rodeo has opened my eyes to all life’s got to offer.  Come hell or high water, I’ll be headin’ back that way.  That’s for sure.”_

A desperate noise eked out of my locked throat.  How it got past my clenched teeth and clamped-shut lips I had no idea, but it did.

Everyone in the trailer turned and stared at me.

_“Words your fans are going to take to heart, Duo Maxwell.”_

I knew I sure was.  Jesus.  Duo was so fucking smart.  Using his words just right, leading the announcer to assume he was talking about one thing — coming back to bull riding — when what Duo was really talking about was coming back to me.  And whatever we were capable of being together.

I wrenched open the door and tumbled down the trailer steps, needing some fresh air.  I had no idea what I was thinking or feeling only that if I didn’t take a minute, I was going to explode.

Wufei came out just as I was able to straighten up.  “You were right,” he said suddenly, answering my look with one of his own.  “That’s worth waiting for.”

I felt a weak smile tug at my lips.

“Check that!” Chris loudly objected, hanging out of the open door.  “That’s somethin’ you don’t wanna wait one second more ‘n you absolutely have to for.”

I blinked at him, unsure of what he was saying.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him back and my uncle came down the steps, turning in a circle to study the cloudless sky.  “Weather report says there’s a big storm coming.  We’re going to have to cancel this coming weekend.”

“What?  You never—”

“Shut your yap, Trowa!” Ralph called.

Cathy hollered around him, “What are you still doing here?”

I blinked some more. She rolled her eyes — a clear indication that I was being stupid — and I cottoned on.  “But the finals are in San Antonio, Texas!”

Meiran shoved Ralph aside and smirked at me.  “Then you’d better put the pedal to the metal, Barton.”

I looked into their faces, my grin blossoming wider and wider until my cheeks ached.  I didn’t even tell them goodbye.  I sprinted for my camper truck, locked down the utility lines, and jumped behind the wheel.  I disengaged the parking brake and turned the key.

The engine ground, coughed, and rumbled.  And kept on rumbling as I pulled out of the fairground parking lot.  I had no idea how to get to San Antonio.  I’d pick up a map on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dislocated shoulder can take up to 12 weeks to heal (or so Google tells me, so it must be true *snerk*). However, I’m totally going to borrow from the spirit of the series and insist that Duo would refuse to be out of commission for that long. I’m vague about the timeline between Duo’s last ride at Bloom’s Rodeo and his first ride on the championship circuit to give him a little time to heal.
> 
> I’ve never done the camper car/trailer thing, so I’m sorry if I’ve got the utilities aspect all wrong. (I did live in a trailer park for a while when I was little, so I have some vague impressions but that’s all.)
> 
> Er, I actually don’t know where the U.S. bull riding championship event would have been held in the 90s. San Antonio had a nice ring to it, so I went with that.
> 
> Also, I'm purposefully vague about how the scoring system for the bull riding circuit works because I did zero research on it. I was just in such a hurry to get to the sexytimes. So. That's my excuse. Or whatever. Aaaand, I'm lazy.


	8. Heavyarms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “Spin” by Nini Camps
> 
> Also, I know nothing about rodeos. If you do, don't hesitate to share! (^_^)

It took me seven-and-a-half days to get to San Antonio.  My piece of shit camper had refused to go faster than 55 miles per hour.  It had overheated with billowing clouds of steam three times, broken down once (costing me an entire day of traveling and the price of a tow and a fan belt), and forced me to change its damn tire in the pouring rain.

But here I was: San Antonio.  Six days before the final competition for the championship of North American bull riding.  I joined the throng, which was growing rapidly as rodeo fans from across the country made the annual bull riding pilgrimage.  I parked my camper in the lot outside the stadium, choosing a space that had a view of the drive leading to the staff entrance.

I hung around.  

I waited.  

I watched.  

On Thursday, I spotted Dorothy.  I kept my distance as I followed her out to her swanky car.  Then I caught a taxi and tailed her to a fancy hotel surrounded by a wide, green lawn and palm trees.

After paying the cabbie and sending him on his way, I walked the block.  All the way around and back to the main drive.  Partly to reconnoiter and partly to summon up the nerve to follow through with my plan.  With a deep breath, I headed for the main doors, went inside, and strolled right up to the front desk.  The clerk dismissed me with a look.

“Do any of your guests drive a red Camaro?”

She paused.  “Why do you ask?”

“Well, because a buddy of mine is being sick all over it.  Right now.”

She looked horrified.

“It’s damn shame,” I agreed and walked back out.

Then I ducked around to the valet parking lot to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, a harassed-looking bellboy emerged wearing a pair of yellow, rubber cleaning gloves and carrying a telltale bucket of soapy water with a large sponge.

“Hey!” I called out.  He skidded to a stop and turned to face me.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” he informed me.

“I know.  But I’ve got some good news for you.”

“Huh?”

“There’s no puke to clean up.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yup.  And I’ve got more good news for you.”

He looked at me, long and hard and suspicious.  “What’s that?”

I held out a bulging envelope.  “If you give this to one of your hotel guests, Duo Maxwell, you’ll get the biggest tip you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh well.  Your loss.”  I turned to begin the long walk back to the arena.

I heard the slosh of the water in the bucket as it was set down, then running footsteps.

“Hold up!” the bellboy hissed.  “I’m not saying I’ll do it, but—”

I held out the envelope.  It was unsealed.  He opened it and looked down.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.”  I took it back, licked and sealed it.  “But you have to wait for him to be alone or you’ll get diddly squat.”

He took the envelope.  Hesitated.

I pulled out my wallet and held up a twenty dollar bill.  “And I’ll add this to whatever Duo Maxwell gives you if you tell me what he says when he opens it.”

“You’ll get chased off before I can deliver this.”

“That’s why I’ll be back tomorrow.  Name a time.”

He did.

I made my way back to my camper and one of the nearby pay phones.  I placed my daily call to the fairground cantina.

“Trowa!” Meiran crowed, then hollered to some unknown patrons, “Guys!  It’s Trowa!  Have you seen Duo?”

“Not yet.  Has he called?”

“Not since Monday afternoon.”

At which time, Meiran had told him I was sick in bed with food poisoning.

“Damn it, what did you say a dumb thing like that for?” I’d snapped.

“So you can surprise him!”

I’d rolled my eyes.  “Women.  Why do you have to be so melodramatic?”  Then I’d hung up on her huff of indignation.

I now informed her, “Well, he might be calling soon.  If he does, would you please tell him that I’m here, my camper is parked in Lot E, and I’ll give him a ride home when he’s ready.”

She chuckled, low and wicked.  “What kind of ride are we really talking about here?”

“Meiran.  Repeat the message back to me so that you and the whole damn world in the cantina knows what to say when Duo calls.”

There was a pause, during which I would have bet money that she was rolling her eyes.  “You’re outside the stadium in San Antonio.  Camper in Lot E.  You’re giving him a ride home when he’s ready.”

“Thank you.”  And I really meant it.  I hung up.

The next day, I waited until noon, then I called the cantina again.

“Did he call?” I asked.

Wufei had answered the phone this time.  “Yes, he did.  After midnight.”

“Well, I’m sure glad I didn’t make you go out of your way or anything.”

“No problem.  It was Cathy’s turn to wait by the phone.”

Jesus.  “Did he get the message?”

“Yes, he did.  And he says he’ll be ready to leave on Monday at five p.m.”

Oh, God.  That was purely and completely— “Excellent.”

“Our souvenirs had better be,” Wufei warned me and then hung up.

Smiling, I walked back to the hotel.  I got there right on time and found the bellboy from yesterday.  I had his cash ready for him — all I needed was a little proof that Duo had gotten my message.

My message: a single-serving size bag of Reese’s Pieces.

“He said he’s coming for the rest of them,” the poor, befuddled kid reported.  “Monday, five o’clock p.m.”

I gave him the twenty dollars and I walked away.  On the front drive of the hotel, I paused, turned, and looked up.  Then down.  Searched for the watchful gaze I could feel on me.

And then I saw him.  Fuck me, he was gorgeous.  I stared, aching with every fiber of my being, and drank him in.  He was standing on the other side of a big, picture window in the lobby.  Hip cocked, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the window frame.  Smiling.

I smiled back.  Then I walked away before either Dorothy or Howard could come over to investigate what had caught their star bull rider’s eye.

I still couldn’t believe it was me.

The next day was Saturday.  I joined the line at the crack of dawn to enter the stadium and even then my seat was about as far as you could get from the chute.  I tried not to care.

Beautiful women swarmed past wearing T-shirts with both Duo’s name and photo screen-printed across their ample busts.  I tried not to care about that, either.

The noise and restless energy of the crowd swelled until I was sure somebody was going to explode.  I leaned forward in my seat, clasped my hands together — interlacing my fingers — and pressed my thumbs against my lips.  I waited.

I hoped.

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

The booming voice of the announcer made me jerk with surprise and the butterflies in my belly turned into a full-blown tornado.

“Welcome to the North American Bull Riders Championship!”

There were lighting effects, mist machines, cowgirls in sparkly bikinis, but there wasn’t a single person in that arena with a clown costume on.  Of course not.  This was the top level — the very top.  They didn’t need guys like me to entertain the crowd, which was already screaming itself hoarse.

It was pure torture to sit there through the first half a dozen rides and wait for Duo to be called up, but it gave me the chance to see how the safety people worked.  Chris had been right: they were damned good at what they did.  Every rider who came off a bull made it back to the wall.  Some limped from a hard landing, but they all made it through.

Please.  Duo, too.  Please.

“And now, our current leader — Zechs Merquise!”

I smirked as a noticeable number of people booed among the screaming fans.

“He’s drawn a nineteen-hundred pound bull named White Wing…”  The announcer went on to quote the season statistics for the bull.  Most people here knew what Merquise’s record was, but that was dutifully droned out as well in place of his theme song.  Which of course they didn’t play, this being the Big League and all.

Time-wasting speech exhausted, we all waited in silence, eyes on the chute, tracking the hints of movement we could see from the handlers.

And then the door was springing open and Merquise could not have asked for a more photogenic ride.  Having spent years watching tapes of the jerk’s rides at Bloom’s, I could tell from here that he had never been so determined to sit through eight seconds of by-the-book bull riding.

Which he nailed solid.  The buzzer sounded and he leaped down.  He even landed well.  And, wonder of wonders, he didn’t waste time getting out of the way of the safety staff.  Finished off with a simple wave to the crowd.  All humble and lowkey.

That didn’t mean I was going to clap for him.

More riders came out on the bulls they’d drawn.  The safety guys worked the animals toward the pick up men.  I could only admire their speed and skill.

“And now, in second place overall, is Duo Maxwell!”

Everyone in the crowded stadium surged to their feet and I rose with them, my hands fisted at my sides.

_C’mon, Duo.  Be safe.  Be smart._

“Maxwell has drawn a two-thousand pound bull called Heavyarms.  Heavyarms has unseated twenty-eight out of thirty-two riders this year—”

I tried to swallow through my dry throat.

I listened with half an ear to the remainder of the intro, even managed to clap when the announcer asked us to give a round of applause.

And then we waited.

The audience quieted down with reluctance but remained standing.  I was afraid to blink.  My gaze darted to the safety guys, checking their positions relative to the chute door—

_Bang!_

Oh, God.  The door was open and there they were: Duo and the fiery red bull called Heavyarms and right away I could see how the animal had earned his name.  He was as big as a tank and every buck was brutally spine-jarring.  It would be like sitting on top of a grenade exploding again and again.  Antiaircraft artillery pounding away at lines of enemy fighter planes in the sky.

Though I hadn’t seen Duo ride as often as I had Merquise, I could tell he had himself under control.  His seat was solid, his back supple and shoulders square.  Duo kept his left hand high as the bull twisted to the left, bucked hard enough to send Duo’s braid slapping around his torso, then swerved to the right and threw out three fast kicks in a row, changing his rhythm of attack.

Somehow, Duo stuck with it.  Rode it out.

The buzzer sounded.  

The safety people were still standing by, but—

Duo wasn’t coming off.

Eight seconds had come and gone, but he was still riding, still merged with the beast that bucked and twisted with relentless power.  Heavyarms snorted and fought, but Duo was just as relaxed as he’d been in the first second.

The clock kept on ticking: twelve seconds.

Duo had finished his ride for the judges, so what was this?

“I’m planning on one more ride,” he’d said in the radio interview.   _One more ride._

Oh, God.  This was his last ride.  Whatever reasons he’d had for climbing onto a bull’s back in the first place no longer had any power over him.  He was letting all that go.  He really was done with all this.  He really was coming back to me.

The crowd was going insane.

Then Duo took his hat off to them, held it high, and the roar of applause and whistles was deafening.

I couldn’t see his face from here, but I was willing to bet that he was grinning.

Fifteen seconds turned into twenty.  He sat deep, followed the crest and trough of that arching spine.  Twenty-seven seconds.  That was how long he rode before he tossed his hat into the stands and launched himself off of the tiring animal’s back.

He landed with confidence and perfection.  Then, knowing his presence would only make it harder on the safety men, he dashed to the wall, pulled himself up, and smiled to the thunderous clamoring of the crowd.

And then he did something that none of the other riders had done: he stretched out an arm and pointed to every section of the stands in a slow, sweeping motion.  Searching for someone.  Me?  Oh, God.  He knew I had to be here even though he couldn’t see me.   Was he really scanning the crowd for—?

He cupped both hands over his mouth and let out a whoop that was swallowed up by the commotion of the crowd, but I saw it.  And then Duo put both hands over his head and clapped.  Just like he’d done after his first ride at Bloom’s Rodeo as I’d perched on the top of the wall with Shinigami’s snot on my shirt.

 _I made it because of you._  That’s what this was.  I’d helped get him safely through that first ride and, somehow, I’d helped get him through this one, too.  I felt my heart swell in my chest until tears pushed out of my eyes.  My knees were shaking, but I couldn’t sit down.  Couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

He lowered his arms, then lifted them again and waved with both hands—a message for the audience, now.  He bowed low.  Then he headed for the arena staff section, still waving as he walked, and there was something different about him now.  He seemed to stand taller.  His steps were lighter.  Despite the distance, I could see it: he looked happy, genuinely happy in his own skin.

He was beautiful.  And if he really truly was mine, then I was the luckiest bastard in the whole damn world.

I watched until he ducked out of sight.

The judges gave him a near-perfect score.

It was still one point shy of tying with Merquise overall.  I could not believe it.

But as soon as they set up the awards stage and started handing out the be-ribboned trophies, I realized that Duo didn’t care that he’d come in second.  He didn’t even care that he’d come in second to Zechs Merquise.  He shook the man’s hand.  Gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.  Grinned like he was congratulating a good friend.

Maybe they were.  Maybe they had become that during the circuit.

It surprised me that I didn’t give a damn.  Not if Duo was leaving with me.

The celebrations started even before the ceremony concluded.  I was caught in the mass of humanity as everyone moved toward the exits and I was amazed by the festive atmosphere in the parking lot.  I was invited to join one tailgate party after another, but I declined.  I headed for my camper and stared at the giant bag of Reese’s Pieces that was laid out on the tiny counter in the kitchen.

Duo had never answered me when I’d asked him why he rode.

Would he answer me if I asked him why he’d quit?

Maybe.  Someday.

I smiled.  Someday was coming real soon.  Monday at five o’clock p.m.

I spent the next forty-eight hours cleaning my camper from top to bottom, front to back.  If Duo and I were going to be making the long journey north together in this clunk bucket, then it was going to be aired out, swept out, scrubbed down, and washed up.  I found a laundromat and washed my sheets and towels.  All of them.  I stocked the cabinets with non-perishables, including a couple of six packs of his favorite beer for when we stopped for the night.

On Monday, I hauled two gallon jugs of water into the tiny shower and washed my hair, soaped myself up and rinsed off.  I’d found a public campground on a pamphlet in the visitor’s corner near the arena ticket window and, come night fall, I was intending to hook up the camper to their utility lines.  I’d already called ahead and reserved a space.

All that I needed now was Duo.

I was sitting on the collapsible step of my camper’s door, glancing at my watch every twenty-odd seconds, when a shadow fell over my knees.  I looked up and there he was.

Scuffed, brown cowboy boots.  Worn-pale Levis.  A faded black Rolling Stones T-shirt.  He had a rubbed-shiny brown leather jacket tucked under one arm and there was an ancient-looking canvas gym bag — half full — thrown over his shoulder.  His face was shaded by a Stetson cowboy hat that had once been black but was now an oxidized brown; the brim was worn, fraying a bit at the edges.

He wasn’t wearing designer leather chaps and I wasn’t staring at him through layers of face paint.  It was just him and me.  The real him.  The real me.  Finally.

I stood and he tilted his head back, revealing the full glory of his smile and shining eyes.

He dropped the bag and held out his right hand to me.

“I’m Duo Maxwell,” he said.  Dimple included.

My breath got tangled up and I choked.  How did he manage to do this to me?  Over and over again?  “Trowa Barton,” I eventually answered, taking his hand.

“Trowa Barton,” he drawled softly, sending shivers dancing along my spine.  “I’ve been lookin’ real forward to…”

“The end of the season?” I prompted when he didn’t seem inclined to finish.

He corrected softly, “You.  Just you.”

Fuck me.

He’d taken the words right out of my mouth.

So, I said, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Then let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, I imagine the layout of Trowa’s camper to be like this: the living area is a closed box (there’s no access to the truck cab or a rear view window). 
> 
> Behind the cab is a dinette space with bench seats along the sides and space for a table in the center (Trowa uses a collapsible card table that he can fold up and stow). The benches fold out into a bed that goes from one side to the other (which Trowa usually leaves out as it seems kind of lonely to sit in a dinette-big-enough-for-four just to eat meals by yourself. There’s an entertainment shelf for a small TV and VCR and radio built-in at the far end (behind the cab) between the overhead cupboards that run along the top of the camper.
> 
> Along the driver’s side, there’s a microwave on top of a mini refrigerator, and there’s a small counter top (for a cutting board or a dish drainer or a hotplate, as needed), and next to that a half-size sink with a trash can tucked into the cupboard underneath. There are overhead cupboards here as well. Beside that is a tiny closet. 
> 
> Across from the closet is a bathroom which has a toilet and a shower head both in one room. The camper door is along the passenger side of the vehicle, between the bathroom and the dinette/bed area. There’s enough space to set up the card table even with the bed laid out, but it’ll block the door.
> 
> I can’t supply a link to an image or diagram of this, but there are plenty of do-it-yourself camper plans online that are pretty close (usually with the door at the far end of the living space at the back of the truck, not along the side).
> 
> In other news, I'm kind of in love with the image of Trowa sitting on the camper steps, elbows propped up on his knees, hands clasped, angling his head for a glimpse of the face of his wrist watch. EVERY TWENTY SECONDS. I'm sure there's some toe tapping, lip biting, and knuckle gnawing involved as well.
> 
> Soooo, this fic could be called "Rodeo, Road Trip, and Ranch." FYI and whatever.


	9. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “Bring on the Wonder” by Susan Enan
> 
> There's now a short companion fic to Rodeo & Ranch in Duo's POV, which takes place just before the championship ride:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/10682457
> 
> Also, tanuki02 has kindly, generously, and talented-ly given us some fantastic fanart:  
> http://tanuki02.deviantart.com/art/Waiting-001-675744283  
> Take a peek (work safe) and leave some love!!!
> 
> WARNINGS: smut things. *wink*

Duo stowed his bag in a cupboard that I’d cleaned out for him.  He hung his coat and hat on the peg.  We got in the cab and I pulled out of the arena.  He lounged in the passenger seat, a man in full possession of his fate.  He’d never been more beautiful.

I asked him how his day had been.

“Long.  Dissolvin’ a legal contract takes a lotta paperwork.”

“They didn’t let you keep the clothes?”

“Naw, wasn’ like that,” he said and I smiled.

“I like this look better,” I told him.  When he was quiet, I glanced over.  He was watching me with this gleam in his eyes that made my heart beat faster, harder.

We pulled into the campground an hour later.  I showed Duo how to connect the utilities.  Back inside the camper, I put his beer in the freezer box in the kitchen.  He put his hand on my shoulder.

“Are you ready for this kiss yet?”

“Just waiting on you,” I teased.

“’s that so?  See, I heard you were sicker ’n a dog.”

“That,” I retorted, “was Meiran’s idea of helping me surprise you.”

Duo studied my face and said, quite seriously, “I was worried about you.”

And I’d been worried about him.  Every damn ride.  Speaking of, I suddenly remembered to say— “Thank you.”

He tilted his head to the side in question.

“Shinigami,” I explained.  “The radio message.”  I held my breath.  Wondered if I’d said too much.  If he’d gotten on that bull, he would have beaten Merquise.  If he’d walked away healthy from it.

His lips curved into a small, shy smile.  “I didn’t mean for you to come all blazin’ campers o’ glory down here to get me.”

“I know.”  That was why I’d done it.  I lifted a hand to wrap my fingers around his wrist.  He was still loosely gripping my shoulder.  I tugged his hand from my arm, enjoying the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips.  I held his hand in mine.  Laced our fingers.  After nine months, I was finally able and allowed to do this one small thing.  “And I didn’t mean for you to give me another salute.”

He grinned widely.  “You got that, huh?  Figured you would.  Bein’ a smart guy an’ all.”

Interestingly, he didn’t clarify which of us was that smart guy.  But I took a guess.  “A smart guy who’s a little nervous?”

I thought of the campsite’s nearby footpath.  It’d be sunset soon.  Maybe we could go for a walk if he was—

“Nervous?” he repeated on a breath.  His other hand reached for my face.  His fingertips doodled along my jaw.  “Naw, that ain’t it.  You’re a little taller ‘n me, y’know.”

I tilted my chin down accommodatingly.  “Is this better?”

“Not yet,” he whispered, then he was leaning against me from chest to pelvis and his lips brushed mine.  Heat surged over my skin in a shock wave.  Stole my breath and stopped my heart.  He murmured, “But we’re gettin’ there.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist, urging him closer, and he approved with a soft groan.  “God.  Trowa.”

He had no idea what the sound of my name in his soft drawl did to me.  

I slanted my mouth over his, nipping at his lips until he opened his mouth to me and the taste of him — dear God, _yes_ — the arousal hit me so hard that I stumbled back with a gasp.  The edge of the fold-out bed pressed against my knees.  Duo’s hands pressed against my chest.  I sat.  In the next instant, Duo was straddling my lap.

I looked into his eyes.

“Kiss me,” I breathed.

His callused hands framed my face.  This time, he didn’t push me away.

He held me steady as his lips touched mine, brushed, nipped, and captured over and over again.  My hands gripped his hips.  His tongue traced the seam of my mouth and I let him in, welcomed him with my own tongue, wrapped my arms around him, petted his face, traced the weave of his braid.  He was all I wanted and he was here.  Right here.

He reached for the hem of his T-shirt.  I gulped.

He gave me a crooked grin.  “You’ve seen it before,” he chided me.

“But I’m allowed to enjoy it now.”

“Both of us are.”

The T-shirt landed on the freshly-waxed floor.  My palms smoothed over his strong torso, over his shoulders and down his arms.  I trailed my fingertips down his spine.  Pressed my hand flat against the faint trail of hair that peeped out over the edge of his belt buckle.  He shuddered, his mouth moving hotly over my neck.  “Hmm.  Trowa,” he said and I was a goner.

He tugged lightly on the front of my flannel shirt and I immediately leaned back far enough to pull the whole thing off over my head.

“God damn your tank tops, Trowa Barton.”

“If it’s in your way, do something about it.”

He did.  I gasped into his mouth as our bare chests came together.  He rolled his hips over mine and I had to push him back.  “Boots,” I told him.

“I’ll get yours if you get mine.”

The technique worked for socks and blue jeans, too, and then I wrapped Duo up in my arms on the increasingly tangled sheets.  We still had our underpants on but I could not have cared less.  I kissed him deeply as I urged him closer with caressing hands.  He pulled me into full contact with his heated skin before smoothing a hand down over my back and lower.  Past the edge of my briefs to cup my ass.

“Ah!  Fuck me,” I swore.

Duo grinned, softly snapping the waistband.  “Do I get to move these, too, if they’re in the way?”

I nodded.  Lay back and lifted my hips as Duo dragged the fabric down my legs.  For a moment, he just looked at me.  From toe to head.  My fingers brushed his bangs aside and I tried not to fidget.  I should say something.  I had no idea what.

Then he leaned over me, kissed me, and said, “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

I kissed him back.  Slow and soft.  Moaned when he slid against me.  His skin under my hands and lips.  I lapped at his neck with my tongue and his hand clenched against my hip.

“Trowa, so help me.  Are you gonna make a man take his own drawers off?”

“Where are my manners?”  I hooked my fingers in the waistband and sat up to work them down and over his hips.  I brushed the garment from his strong legs and ran my hand slowly up over his skin.  Ankle, calf, knee, thigh…

He arched into me, his hands clutching at my neck and shoulders, his eyes hazy and dark.

I stretched out on my side next to him, tugged myself closer with a hand on his waist.  Leaned in for a kiss, stroked his tongue with mine as I settled my hips against his.  He groaned at the first brush of our bare arousals, his teeth coming down on my tongue in a playful nip that sent a hot poker of lust right through my middle.

Duo didn’t notice my hesitation.

“Jesus.  Trowa, you feel so good.”

I hummed against his cheek, and then I flexed my hips.

“Oh,” he breathed and somehow his drawl was there, too, in that tiny sound.

He rocked shallowly against me.  “Oh,” he said again.

I tunneled one arm under his head and trailed the fingers of my other hand over his hip.  “Together now?” I asked and he nodded, his eyes closed tightly.  I nudged him into the first thrust and his hand, sandwiched between our chests, flattened over my heart, fingers splayed.  I would have paused if he hadn’t grabbed my ass and pulled me in for another rolling caress.

“Ah, Duo,” I approved.

He rocked his hips and I ached to wrap my hand around him, taste him, but I could not bring myself to let him go.

His mouth moved up my throat and his breaths thinned.  I curled my arm up so I could span his strong back, stretch my fingers against his ribs.  I reached past his hip to his thigh and guided his knee over my waist.

“Oh, _oh,”_ he panted as the angle increased the friction.  “Oh, my God.  Trowa.”

I shivered.  Hard.  He felt it.  Tilted his head back and looked at me.  Slowed his thrusts until the feel of him was pure, exquisite torture.

“’s it always gonna feel this way?”

“From—the first, it has—for me,” I confessed brokenly.

“What—you mean—?”

“The way you say my name,” I clarified in a breathless rush.

That surprised him.  “Does it feel like this?” he asked, scraping the edges of his blunt nails down the center of my spine.

My back arched and I nodded helplessly.

“Or like this?”  He tugged my hips snugly against him and my arousal slid over his belly.

“Damn it.  Duo.  Yes.”

“’s the same for me.”

I rolled us, bracing myself above him, sliding between his thighs and thrusting our hips together.  Struggled not to go too fast, too far, before he was ready.  His spine arched against the mattress and his hands searched over my back to settle on my hips.  I leaned over him, brought my mouth to his chest and his knees came up in an effort to pull me in even closer.

“Trowa, oh, damn it.  I’m not gonna—you feel too good—!”

“Hng,” I groaned.  Flicked my tongue over a peaked nipple.  “It’s all right.  Don’t hold back.  It’s all right.”

His feet slid back to the mattress and his hands came between us.  I gasped as he wrapped one around me and the other around himself.  With one hand bracing my weight up and the other hooked under his bent knee, I rocked us into his tight grip just a little faster, faster, _faster._

Duo closed his eyes as he came.  I fully intended to keep mine open, but I couldn’t.  The beauty of it was too much for mortal sight.

I tried not to crush him under me in the aftermath, but he wrapped his legs around my waist, so I let him take my weight for a moment.  I kissed his chest between hard breaths.  He was as winded as I was.

“Your hair tickles,” he informed me some moments later.

I looked up with a grin, ready with a retort.

He beat me to it.  “An’ I’d do somethin’ about it, but…”  He lifted his slippery fingers up for me to see.  Waggled them.

I leaned forward and took his left index finger into my mouth.  Sucked it clean.  Slowly.

His eyes went wide.  His breath caught.  “Trowa.”

I hummed, watching him through my brows.  Loving the way he looked at me.  Then I took pity on him and reached over for the nearest cabinet door, producing a pair of hand towels.  I passed him one and, picking myself up, I cleaned us up with the other.

“Handy, this camper layout,” he said with that damn sexy grin.

“Don’t you be letting the secret out.”

He promised he wouldn’t.

I looked up and toward the darkened windows.  “We missed the sunset,” I observed.

“’s all right.  We’ll catch the next one.”  He brushed my bangs aside to pet my lips with his fingertips.  Let his gaze rove from my mouth down to my chest… and lower.  “Or the one after that.”

Sounded good to me.

As the camper was too small for two people to work in the kitchen area at the same time, I offered to make dinner while he folded up the bed and assembled the infrequently used dinette area.  We ate pork and beans from a can, nuked ears of unbuttered corn, and I added a slice of bread for each of us with a generous layer of peanut butter.  At least the beer had gotten cold.  Mostly.

Duo scraped his metal camping plate clean and I marveled that he seemed happy to eat such humble fare.  My attempt at dinner was a far, pitiful cry from the rib eye steak he’d probably enjoyed not too many nights ago.

“Thanks for supper, Trowa.”

As I was gnawing the last bits of corn flesh from the cob, I merely made a noise in the back of my throat.

He leaned back on the bench that had been the far left side of our bed only thirty minutes ago, popped the tab on his can of beer, and poured himself a stainless steel picnic tumbler about half-full.     

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.

“Taking you home,” I replied after scrubbing my mouth and chin with a paper napkin.  “Or is this the part where you tell me you’ve got more than one?”

“Anglin’ for a beach house to go with that Camaro?  Sorry to disappoint.”

I wadded up a clean napkin and tossed it at him.  He batted it aside with a grin.

“So what’s the confusion?” I asked.

He dimpled at me.  “Well, see, there’s this fella — green eyes, brown hair, sexy smile — who’s offered me a ride home in his camper.”

“His camper, huh?  Sounds pretty shady to me.”

Duo’s grin widened.  “Doesn’ it?  The thing is… the thing is—I’m not sure which home he means.”

“Still not seeing the problem.”

“Well, your uncle’s rodeo is where you hang your hat, innit?”

“Duo, I—”  How had I forgotten to tell him?  “—I won’t be working there anymore.”

In an instant, he was rip-roaring furious.  “They fired you for comin’ to get me!?”

“No!  No, I left.  After you passed up the ride.  Shinigami.  I heard what you said on the radio and I—I left.”

“You up an’ quit?” he checked, voice uncertain.

“Yes.”

“Why would you do a thing like that?”  He was genuinely confused.

I looked down at my empty plate and said, “Well, there’s this guy — long brown braid, big heart, dimpled smile — who watches me when I’m working.  During the rides.  I think he worries about me.”

“I reckon he wants you to be happy more.”

I sighed.  “I honestly can’t remember ever being happy doing that job, Duo.”

That surprised him.  It surprised me, too, though that made the statement no less true.  I’d been working in the arena since I was sixteen as part of the show that the clowns held before the bull ride event.  After I’d finished high school, I’d started working with Ralph, Chris, and Sal full-time to look after the animals, maintain the facilities, and protect the riders.  I’d never really made the decision to do it.  It had just sort of happened.

I recalled how certain Ralph and Chris had seemed the night of Sal’s injury—how they’d known I was done with that work.  Ready to move on.

They’d been right.

I felt a sad — but sure — crooked smile curl my lips.  “I’ll miss the guys, yeah, but now that I’ve gained my life’s ambition of having bull snot smeared across the front of my shirt—”  I shrugged and implored, “Tell me there’s something more out of life.”

Duo was fighting a grin.  “I sure hope so, ‘cuz I stuck my fingers up that animal’s snout an’ if that was the high point, I fear I may lose the will to go on.”

I laughed.  He chuckled.

Then he asked, “You wanna go see your momma?”

“She’s in Wyoming.  Not that far from Bozeman.”

“You… you don’ have to take me all the way back to Bozeman.”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Naw, you wouldn’.”

I waited.  I knew he’d tell me why if I didn’t press.  Just like the last time I’d asked about his home life.

He took another gulp of beer and then caved in on a sigh.  “My family doesn’ know I’m—”  He sucked in a deep breath.  “—gay.  An’ there’s a lotta shit that—well.  I didn’ leave things on the best o’ terms.”

“But you’re going to walk up to the front door with the money you’ve spent the last nine months busting your ass for and just—what?”  What was his plan for this?  “Just hand it over and walk away?”

“Naw.  Naw, I thought maybe…  I don’ know.  I jus’ knew I had to get the money.”

I leaned back in my seat.  Stretched out a leg under the collapsible card table and bumped his foot with mine.  “This guy who’s offered you a ride home would be a real asshole to make you knock on that door by yourself.”

“Trowa—”

“And he’s not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“But, you can’t be… you can’t be my boyfriend there.”

I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth.  “Am I your boyfriend?”

“I sure as hell hope so because I don’ do what we just did with boys that aren’ my friends.”

I was definitely smiling now.  “Good to know.”

Duo leaned his head back until it bounced against the window screen.  “There is so much I’m gonna have to tell you…”

The agony in his voice prompted me to cut in with something off-topic.  “Starting with why you never did break Merquise’s face.”

Duo’s head snapped forward with surprise.

“I figure you can afford the repairs now.”

He laughed.  “Well, to tell you the truth…  Howard was havin’ me get in his face while we were on circuit.  An’ Khushy was havin’ him get in mine.  After rides, at bars.  We ended up in the drunk tank this one night an’ we got to talkin’ an’… I’ll tell you a secret.”

Oh, God.  I did not think I was going to like this.  But I said, “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“He’s got a little girl.”

I gaped.

“She’s just turned three an’ he promised his wife this would be his last rodeo year.  I’m not sayin’ the guy’s a saint.  He’s a sanctimonious, stuck-up jerk, but I reckon part o’ that’s Khushy’s fault for puttin’ him through year after year o’ this crazy bullshit.”

I, literally, could not think of anything to say.

Duo shrugged.  “All of us wear masks.  At least your old one would wash off.”

Was that why he’d gotten so upset by the news that I’d left the rodeo?  “I don’t know what I’m going to do to earn a living next year,” I told him.  “But I’d like the chance to find something I enjoy.”

“Dealin’ with my family won’ be a joy.”

I heard his warning and I told him so.  “Message received, loud and clear.  If you don’t want me there — if me being there is going to make it harder for you to do whatever you’ve got to do — then I’ll drop you off and call you from my mom’s house.”

Beneath the tabletop, my left hand was resting on my thigh, curled into a tight fist.  Had Duo ever seen me bluff before?  I couldn’t recall.

He looked down at the beer in his tumbler.  “It doesn’ matter if you bein’ there is gonna make things harder.  ‘Cuz I do—want you there.  With me.”

Out of sight, my fist loosened.  “OK.”

“But, seriously, sunshine, it’s a real long story.”

“It’s a good thing it’s going to take us a while to get there.  Or maybe you were too busy leering at me to notice — this bucket can’t make it over fifty-five.”

“I do not _leer.”_  He lifted the tumbler for another swallow.

“Why not?  All it takes is practice.”  I leered at him.

He just about squirted the beer out of his nose on a bark of laughter.  When he got both the air and liquid going down the right tubes, he informed me, “You’re a disturbed individual, Trowa Barton.”

“And you can’t wait to have your wicked way with me again.”

He answered with a leer.

Imitation really is the sincerest form of flattery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, one of my favorite things about the Camper Chapters (as I call the "road trip" bits) is how Duo and Trowa can finally let down their guard around each other and, not gonna lie, these two come up with some of my favorite dialog lines.


	10. Campground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “Nothing Like You & I” by The Perishers

I woke to the feel of a warm body shifting next to me.  Bare skin brushed my bare arm.  Even before my eyes opened, I knew it was Duo.  I could just catch the fading scent of his shampoo in the sun-warmed air.  Strangely, I missed the smell of his usual sandalwood soap; he’d used mine last night when we’d each taken a turn in the camper’s postage-stamp-sized shower stall.

But it was a small price to pay if it meant that the dream that I’d been dreaming for months was about to come true.

I rolled onto my side to face him and opened my eyes.

He was smiling.

“Hey,” he breathed and a whiff of mint teased my nose.  He’d brushed his teeth.

“No fair,” I accused.

“What?”

“You’re minty fresh and I’m not.”

He snorted.  “You know where the bathroom is.”

Such as it was, yes.  Yes, I did.  I hauled myself out of bed and went to go wash my face and brush my teeth.  By that time, my morning wood had calmed down enough to let me piss.  I, perhaps too optimistically, indulged in a quick shower and a shave.  I half expected Duo to have stowed the bed under the bench seats by the time I got back, but he was still lounging in the sunlight, bare-chested and the sheets bunched around his waist.

I tugged on a pair of clean underwear beneath the threadbare towel wrapped around my waist, hung up the towel to dry, and then I climbed back into bed next to him.

“I missed this,” he volunteered, eyes shut.

“Toothpaste?”

He snorted.  “Sleepin’ in.”

“Uh-huh,” I doubted, elaborating at his prompting look, “I’m just saying there’s an alternate explanation for why it took you nine months to kiss me.”

His lips curved.  His eyes sparkled with a joke that I anticipated with a smile, but then he grew serious.  “I didn’t know — ‘til that night at your camper after the poker game — I mean, I liked you before that but told myself it was pointless to even think about it.  An’ then that night, I thought it was just gonna be somethin’ to tide you over ‘til Yuy got his act together.”

I frowned, trying to sort it all out.  The events in question had happened months ago.  “So that’s why you talked to Yuy?  You thought I was waiting on him?”

“Kinda.  An’ like I said, I was under contract to _project a certain image,”_ he recited with a gratifying amount of resentment.  “Lettin’ you kiss me senseless woulda been a big risk.  If somebody saw.”

Somebody would have seen.  If not that night, then some other because— “It would not have been a one-time event.”  I reached for his hand and interlaced our fingers.

“Oh, now you tell me.”

I petted his thumb with mine.  One thing made me wonder, though.  “How’d you figure out that I wasn’t interested in Yuy?”

He let out a long breath.  “That day Cathy came and got me to go get you.  She said I was the only one who’d be able to get through to you.  An’ when I asked her why, she told me to figure it out for myself.  An’ I was confused an’ that makes me ornery, so I asked her just how many guys you had a thing for.  She said, ‘Just one.’  An’ right then I knew I was fucked.  You wanted me, but Howard was makin’ me do this dumb dog-an’-pony show with Merquise, and you had no idea about any of it.  That was the first time I really, honestly hated myself for signin’ that fucking contract in the first place.”

“You didn’t have much of a choice.”

Duo rolled up onto his side to face me.  “It wasn’t all-or-nothin’.  Howard’s contracts come in levels — different degrees o’ commitment an’ involvement in the commercial end o’ things.  I chose the one that would pay out the highest.”

“Was it just for the money?” I asked.

He pulled our joined hands to his chest.  “No.  An’ there’s a real long answer to that, which I could spend the next hour gettin’ into or…”

“Or?” I prompted.

He placed soft kisses on my captured knuckles.  “Or I could get into you.”

“Option B, please,” I said, closing the distance between our mouths.  He scooched closer and I realized pretty quickly that he was naked under that sheet.  I had no objections when his hands nudged my shorts down my legs and into the bed clothes.

“I lied last night,” I said against the arch of his neck, “about my life’s ambition.”

He chuckled.  “I should hope so.”

“This is it,” I blurted as I pulled him closer and sucked gently on the soft patch of skin beneath his Adam’s apple.  His stubbled jawline brushed my forehead.  He really did have to shave every day.

His fingers clenched in my hair, opened and massaged my scalp before clenching again.  “Then I can put your fears to rest: there is more to life than this.”

He proved it by guiding my hand to his cock.  I groaned his name and found myself moving over him, gazing down at his expression of need and pleasure as his head nestled in the crook of my arm and I worked him slow and hard.  He kicked at the sheet, his legs moving restlessly with every flex of his hips.  I kissed his mouth, the side of his neck, the center of his chest.  Then I shifted to support his neck in my hand as I pinched first one nipple and then the other between my lips.

Every little sound he made drove me further on, further down.  I belatedly remembered that my hair had tickled him the evening before, but he didn’t seem to mind it now when I was nuzzling my nose into the thin trail of hair that arrowed southward from his belly button.

“Trowa,” he breathed.

“OK?” I checked.

“God, yes.”

I drew back far enough to watch his body undulate with every deliberate, steady motion of my hand.  Watched his flushed arousal piston through my grasp.  He glistened.  I leaned in and licked delicately.

“Ah!” his voice was hoarse and breathless and I needed to hear it again.  Hmm, yes.  And again.  Ah, Duo.  And again.  Fuck me.

His hands were gripping my arms with bruising force and he was breathing my name, pleading so prettily for more, and I couldn’t hold back any longer.  I opened my mouth over him and drew him in.

The grip on my arms disappeared as he splayed his fingers wide, his spine arching.  Oh, God.  He was incredible.  My shallow fantasies of his surrender were laughable compared to the reality of his scent and taste and moans.

He grabbed for my bangs, tunneled his fingers through them and pulled them back from my face.  I looked up at him through my brows and sank down further, lifted up again, down and up and he was panting and whimpering and I was so turned on I ached.

Duo propped himself up on one elbow to watch himself moving through my fist and into my mouth and that was when I decided to stop taking it slow.  On the down stroke of my fist, I descended and then added suction to the mix.

“Ah!  A-ah!”  He fell back on a cry, wrapped his legs around my shoulders and I grabbed his hip with one hand, picking up the pace with the other.  He was thrusting up and up and my mouth was watering around him, waiting for him to lose complete control of himself.

“Tr-Trowa,” he moaned.  “’s all right if—I—I—?”

I groaned and stayed the course, anticipation turning the ache of my arousal into a sharp sting of lust.  And then—

Ah, yes.  This.  I embraced his shuddering body, pulled his hips to my my mouth, and drank him down, loving every soft, whispered exclamation from his lips.  I held onto him until he was spent, then I gently sucked my way off, bathing the softened tip with my tongue.

He whimpered and the sound went straight to my cock.  I sat back on my heels and took a deep breath to calm myself down.

Duo opened his eyes and his gaze went right to my throbbing dick.

“Oh,” he breathed reverently.  “Can I?”

He could do whatever he wanted.  He held out his hands and I moved to straddle his chest.  A flash of surprise briefly widened his eyes, but he didn’t object.  I moved his right hand to my cock and his left to my ass.  I leaned over and interlaced my fingers, placing my hands behind his head for support.

As soon as he noticed how close and convenient my cock was to his mouth, he looked up at me and licked his lips.

“Slowly,” I told him and watched as his lips parted and his tongue peeked out.  He angled closer and licked across the head and I shuddered hard, heat racing through my veins.  Our gazes locked as he kissed me with his lips, swirled his tongue, and squeezed the shaft in his grip.

I was so, so close, but I didn’t want to come like this, all over his face and chest.  No, definitely not.

I slid off of him until I was beside him, then under him.  As he leaned over me and I pumped up into his strong grip, he surprised me.  He leaned over and suddenly the head of my cock was inside his hot mouth and he was following each roll of my hips as I mindlessly sought more-more-more.

Fiery tingles erupted from the base of my spine and shot along my length.  I grabbed for the back of Duo’s neck and yanked his mouth away just as I started to come in his hand.  He worked me firmly through each pulsing wave and then, as I was lying on the tangle of sheets, sweaty and spent, he crouched down, caught my eye with a hot look, and licked the softened head clean.

“Duo.”  Oh, God.

He reached for the cupboard of hand towels and wiped us both down.  I opened my arms to him and he snuggled against me.  I breathed.  I rubbed his back.  I came back down to Earth.

I nuzzled his disheveled braid and asked, “Do you always sleep with it braided?”

“Naw, not usually.”

I reached up to massage his scalp through the loosened weave.  “Take it out tonight.  Or whenever.  It’s fine.”

“You say that now.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Welcome to the jungle.”

I snorted at the Guns N’ Roses reference.  “Can I do the Tarzan yell later?”

“Don’ think you’re gettin’ out of it.”

I wouldn’t dare.

Duo shifted at the sound of an F250 chugging past our camping space.  “How late are we stayin’?”

“We’re supposed to pull out by noon.”

He considered that.  He lifted the hand from my chest and waggled his fingers in the sunlight.  “’s a nice day.  Good for lettin’ my hair dry outside.”

I sensed this was something else he’d missed.  Howard — or, more likely, Dorothy — had supplied him with any and every hair care product he could have asked for, but he hadn’t been given the time for something as simple as letting it dry all on its own in the sunshine.

I said, “There’s a walking trail.”

He levered up and I found myself the recipient of a quick, deep kiss.  “Gimme twenty minutes, then  we’re gonna see where it goes.”

He slid out of my grasp and off the bed.  Walked through the kitchen area and into the bathroom buck naked.  The sight was enough to make my groin tighten.  I pulled some clothes on and made us some coffee instead following him in there.  I laid out a buffet of breakfast items: a variety pack of poptarts, Hostess pies, beef jerky, and granola bars.

After about fifteen minutes, the shower door opened and Duo grabbed a towel from the closet across the way.  Emerged with his hair wrapped up in a messy turban.  I stood there, cupboard door hanging open in my hand and gaping like an idiot as he walked over to me, slid his shower-flushed skin against my body, and grabbed for something on the shelf.

It was the bag of Reese’s Pieces.

He snuggled them against his bare chest with glee.  “I knew you were hidin’ ‘em somewhere in here.”

I lifted a brow at him and asked very seriously, “Would you like a spoon with those or are you going to go old school and just stick your head in the bag?”

He tucked his smiling face down and took a long whiff of the factory-sealed plastic.  His eyes sparkled.  “Well, I figured I’d try an’ make this last the whole trip, but—damn it all, Trowa.  If I hadn’t been head-over-my-fool-ass in love with you before you showed up in Texas, I sure as hell woulda been after you sent that contraband up with the bellboy.”

I reached for his face and pulled his chin up, kissing him soft and sweet.  His arm slid around my waist and I leaned back far enough to murmur, “You stuck your hand in bull snot for me.”

“Was that all it took?”

“Took you long enough to figure it out.”

His smile turned sad.  “I’m, ah, a little slow when it comes to some things.”  Amazingly, he really was apologizing to me.

I didn’t understand.  So I kissed him again.  Then I asked him if drinking coffee naked was another of the things he’d missed.

He laughed, shoved the bag of candy at my chest, and went to go wiggle into some clothes.  Clean underwear and tube socks from his battered duffel bag, and his jeans from yesterday.  He grabbed a second bath-sized towel and threw it over his shoulders.  He put his boots on and headed outside.

“Gimme two more minutes and then we’ll have that coffee,” he promised and then he was squeezing the water out of his hair in the sunshine.

I checked my watch, but we had plenty of time before we’d have to hit the road.  I grabbed one of everything from the breakfast buffet and collected the coffee in my other hand.  Barefoot, I went to sit on the steps and watch him work.

I’d never seen anyone with hair as long as his.  Loose, it fell past his hips.  The braid actually shortened it by a good three inches.  He pulled a simple comb from his back pocket and started working the tangles out, starting from the ends and making his way up with quick, efficient strokes.  He hit a couple of snags that made him wince, but it couldn’t have been two minutes and he was tucking the comb away and reaching for his coffee cup.

There wasn’t enough room for us to share the steps, so I stood up and nodded toward a picnic table.

He held out his hands for my coffee and the food.  Eyeing my tank top and bare feet with a warm smile, he told me, “Put your shirt an’ boots on, sunshine.”

I was still smiling when I slid onto the seat opposite his, marveling that he’d noticed that I never set foot outside my camper without my boots on and long sleeves covering my arms… and not just because they were practical for a day of work at the rodeo.  Somehow, Duo had noticed that I didn’t feel comfortable dressed in less.  Just… he’d noticed.  Like I’d noticed how he never ate French fries with ketchup and he held a pen with his whole hand curled around it and he smiled more when there was blue sky overhead.

We drank the very strong, but extremely bad coffee.  We shared a pair of chocolate poptarts.  Duo had a Hostess cherry pie to go with his Slim Jim.  I chose a cinnamon-and-raisin granola bar to go with mine.  Then we dumped our empty mugs and wrappers in the camper and went to go investigate that trail.

Duo kept one towel around his shoulders but other than that his chest was bare.  And completely distracting.

“You’re leerin’,” he accused.

“What are you—an expert on it?”

“I’ve got a good teacher.”

I felt myself smile.

The trail wasn’t very long or interesting.  It connected the camper hook-up area to the campground to the playground.  This being a Tuesday in November, we pretty much had the place to ourselves.

“This what most campgrounds are like?” Duo asked, turning in a circle and letting the breeze play with his slowly drying hair.

I shrugged.  “Basically, I guess.”

He looked my way.  “Well, how many did you stay in on your way down here?”

“I stayed at rest stops, mostly.”

His jaw slackened.

“There were two that came up when I needed to stop that had an open space.  They’re pretty much like this one.”

“When—when you needed to stop,” he repeated and then clarified, “to sleep.”

I tucked my lower lip under my teeth and chewed on it.  “I should warn you, we might need to stop for other reasons.”

“Like what?”

“To let the engine cool down.”

He almost laughed but swallowed it back at the last second.  “Sorry.  ‘s probably not funny.”

“You might not think so after it happens for the third time in one day, no.”

“Well.  I reckon we can find somethin’ to do with ourselves while we wait.”

Eyeing his slow smirk, I admitted, “I am very open to suggestions.”

The offer was no hardship on my part; why did Duo have to look like his birthday had come early?  I wasn’t sure and I decided that I didn’t really care.  His smile was its own reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of Cathy cluing Duo in to Trowa’s interest without out-and-out betraying Trowa’s confidence is another gem from Ry. (This event actually happens in Part 3, but we don’t really get Duo’s full point of view on it until now.)


	11. History Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! This chapter contains references to the following topics: attempted suicide, sexually transmitted diseases, sexual activity that seems consensual but isn’t (you’ll see what I mean), borderline emotional neglect/abuse
> 
> I understand if these things make you uncomfortable. They make ME uncomfortable, so I’ve done my best to present them as carefully as I can.
> 
> Music recs -- I couldn't choose just one, so y’all get three:  
> “Long Way” by Antje Duvekot / “On Your Side” by Thriving Ivory  
> "Let Me Love You" (cover) by Against the Current, Alex Goot, & Kurt Hugo Schneider  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SCdj9d8SUQ

 

 

“So, what do you like to do in bed?”

My arms froze, locking the steering wheel in place long enough for the camper to start drifting toward the outside of the lane.  I reaffirmed my grip, forced myself to take a deep breath and unlock my jaw from the shock that had glued it shut.  I licked my lips and told him, “Whatever you’d like to do.”

He was real quiet for an entire mile.  It took that entire mile for me to suck up enough courage to look over at him.  He was watching me with narrowed eyes, like he was trying to figure out why I would avoid the question in the first place.

I exhaled heavily.  “I’m with you, Duo.  That’s all I care about.”

“You can’t let me lead,” he said after yet another uncomfortably silent mile.  “’s like askin’ a blind man to order when he can’t even see the menu.”

The words stung; the comparison was beyond unfair.  Over the last few days, we may have gotten each other off with just our hands and mouths, but I’d surprised him a time or two with a variation he hadn’t expected.  Once I had a sense of what he might be comfortable with, that is.

I didn’t say anything for one mile.  Two.  Three.

“Trowa,” he called quietly.

Glancing his way was a reflex.

“I’m sorry.  That—maybe that didn’ come out right.”

I drew a breath in and let it out.  “Try again.”

“Huh?”

“If that wasn’t what you meant to say, then try again.”

He shifted and I looked over in time to watch him rub at the thighs of his jeans with splayed hands.  “I don’ mean—look, I’m not complainin’.  You—it’s real, _real_ good.”

“But?”

“But I always thought it was—between two fellas—it’s gotta be one fella runnin’ the show an’ the other one just, y’know, takin’ it.”

“Taking it up the ass.”

Duo startled, turning toward me sharply.

“Is that what you want to talk about?” I checked.

The tires rolled and snapped against the sections of rural highway in a drowsy rhythm.  I sent a glance his way and he nodded.

“I—”  He stopped, swallowed, tried again.  “Seein’ as how I’m the one who’s new to all this, I figured it’d be me—uh, that’d be me.  An’ I’ve thought about it an’ I reckon I trust you to—”

I held up a hand to stop his painful, lurching foray.  I needed a moment to think.  To sort the words out.  A mile went by before I was ready.  He looked miserable and uncertain when I dared to check.

“First off,” I began quietly so as not to startle him again, “the guy on the receiving end is in charge.”

That surprised him.

“Nothing happens without him agreeing to it.  If he says ‘no’ or ‘stop’ or ‘slow down’, then that’s what happens.”  I believed this.  My mother had given me The Talk years before and this particular part of it had really stuck.  Even after I’d realized that I wasn’t interested in taking a __girl__  up to the loft for a roll in the hay.

“Second,” I continued, “the kind of sex you’re talking about doesn’t feel good to everyone.  And it isn’t what every gay man wants.  And that’s OK.”

I forced myself to look at him again, to gauge his reaction.  He was still watching me, not as tense as before but clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Third,” I said in a concluding tone, “I haven’t talked about what I’ve done before and who with because, from the moment I saw you, I have not given a single thought to anyone else.  These past months, I’ve been replacing those memories with ones of you.  And I want to keep it that way.  You’re giving me the chance to start over.  And it’s like every day is Christmas.

“I don’t want to bring the past into this.  I haven’t been with anyone in a long time and I’ve been healthy ever since.  I’ll show you my test results from October.  I don’t care what we do or don’t do.  I just want to be with you and have it be good and safe for both of us.”

There.  That had come out sounding just about the way I’d hoped.  I wondered if I’d answered any of Duo’s questions at all or—

“You were sick?” Duo asked, his voice thick.  With fear, probably.  And anger.  That I should have said something sooner.

Selfishly, I’d hoped he wouldn’t pick up on that part, but Duo was real smart.  And as badly as I wanted it to stay in the past and to, hopefully, one day be forgotten, I was not going to lie to him.

I nodded.  “I was nineteen.  It was casual but regular.”

_“Well, Barton, the ladies get first dibs, but you can come over when things are quiet.”_

I talked over the memory: “The condom broke.  He didn’t tell me until it’d happened more than once.”

_“What the hell’s the point of me wearing these damn things if they keep on breaking?  Let’s just not bother with them.”_

I glared at the road, willing the feeling of quiet horror and lingering filth to just go away.

I heard myself say, “I had to tell the guys that I was a safety risk.  They knew who I’d been with.  Sal busted up the guy’s pickup truck.  All three of them told my uncle they refused to bullfight for him—”  Shit.  I was revealing too much.  Duo didn’t need to know this part.

“Where was your momma?” Duo asked into the lengthening silence as I struggled for control.

“Wyoming.”

She’d gotten married and taken off early that spring.  At first, I’d reveled in the freedom, spending the summer months on innocent fumbling with the 18-year-old nephew of a migrant worker.  But when a shoplifting incident at the local liquor store had brought unwanted attention, the whole family had suddenly packed up and left.  It hadn’t mattered that the culprits had been identified as troublemakers from the next county over.  By then it had been too late and I’d found myself abandoned on the precipice of wanting to know what more I was missing.

One of the bull riders had noticed my misery and offered a friendly fuck — __“_ Just a fuck, mind you.  I don’t do romance or that puppy love bullshit.”_ — and I’d gotten my answer.  Liked it.  Had been relieved that it was nothing like the sweet, slow burn of hands and mouths in shadowy corners.  It had been fast and rough.  Hardening my heart against the despair of being left behind.  Forgotten.  Alone.

On days when I couldn’t hear banal love songs playing through the wall of his trailer, I’d knock on the door, get what I’d come for, and then I’d leave.  All I’d asked of him was to wear a condom.  I’d taken care of all the rest of it myself.

My choice.  My terms.

Or so I’d foolishly believed.

Even now, the shame of it was enough to make my stomach twist into knots and my throat clench.  It wasn’t enough to convince me to pick up a knife for the second time and contemplate slicing open my arms.  Cathy had caught me before I’d been able to do more than dig the tip of the blade into the vein in my left elbow; I would feel that slap across my face until the day I died.

But having started this story, I owed Duo the conclusion, at the very least: “He left the rodeo.  I got treatment and got better.  I kept getting tested.  The results came back negative every time, but I didn’t—”  I stopped, took a deep breath and gave him a summary of my experience: “There’s only been one before him — we were just kids fooling around, minimal risk — and there’s been no one else since.  Until you.”

My chest ached.  My molars ached.  I didn’t realize until my lungs started burning that I was holding my breath.

“Trowa.  Pull over.”

His firm tone scared me, made my heart thrum fast.  A sour taste blossomed in my mouth.  I flicked on the winker and pulled over onto a wide shoulder.  I turned on the hazard lights and waited.

Three cars passed in quick succession.  There was no oncoming traffic in the other lane.  I gripped the steering wheel hard and waited for Duo to say something.

He unbuckled his seat belt and slid across the bench seat, crushing the open bag of Reese’s Pieces and crumpling the box of mini-Slim Jims against my leg.  Puzzled, I turned toward him and felt his hands on my face.  I was still staring — still braced for the worst — when he pulled me toward him and kissed me.

He kissed me gently and I gasped.  Then he took advantage of my slack jaw to kiss me long and slow and deep.  When I realized he wasn’t going to demand that I drop him off at the nearest bus or train station, I unwrapped one hand from around the steering wheel and reached awkwardly around to cup the back of his head as he led the kiss.

The memories faded back to their shadowy corners until there was only him and this kiss and — God, it felt amazing.  He petted my cheeks and combed his fingers through my hair and I felt wanted and cared for and clean and _healed._

Duo pulled back far enough to whisper against my lips, “I’m so glad you’re OK.  An’ if we ever cross paths with that sonuvabitch, don’ you dare try an’ stop me from puttin’ him in a world o’ hurt.”

I managed a nod, and then he was kissing me again.  Passionate.  Hungry.  He pulled me closer, coaxed my tongue into his mouth, and sucked hard.

Oh, God.

My skin was tingling, my body flushing with slow, delicious heat and my every breath was filled with him and—  Fuck me.  I had to stop or I wasn’t going to have enough give left in my jeans to work the pedals.

I pulled back and he said, very earnestly, “I wanna try more.  Not everything all at once ‘cuz, like you said, maybe I won’ like it, but I wanna try.  If you’re willin’.”

There was an urgency in his voice that wasn’t arousal.  Or, at least, didn’t sound like it.  Which was jarring considering the kiss he’d just given me.  But this — whatever this was that I was sensing — wasn’t about me.  It was about him.  His fears.

“We have time,” I reminded him.

He nodded.  “We’re not quite halfway there, I know.”

“No,” I argued back.  “This isn’t a race.  Bozeman isn’t the finish line.”

He looked at me, expression locked in a look of foreboding.  “It might be.”

I gaped at him for a full minute before I figured out what he was saying.  “You really think I’m going to take off on you after we get there?”

“You’ll have every reason to.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Trowa—”

“Name one scenario in which I leave you because I’m stupid in love with you.”

A weak smile tugged at his mouth.  “Because me havin’ a gal on my arm would make my granddaddy proud o’ me.  Or as proud as he ever is.”

“Maybe,” I suggested slowly, “it’s time you told me a little more about your family.”

“I reckon it is, just… not today?  I gotta—I need time to sort it out in my head.  Like you just did a few miles back.”

I could understand that.

The road was still empty of vehicles, so I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.  He smiled — Jesus, how did I deserve such easy acceptance? — and he scooted back to his side of the cab.  He buckled in and I canceled the hazard lights.  I pulled back onto the highway and then I held out my hand to him.  He took it and held on tight.

He was still tense that evening when we pulled over at a rest stop.  The campground we’d tried hadn’t had any vacancies and I didn’t expect that would change for the rest of the weekend.  We wouldn’t have any running water or power and we’d have to use the public toilet, but Duo had adamantly refused to let me find a cheap motel.

“I wanna sleep in your bed,” he’d announced.

“Our bed now,” I’d corrected, just to see him smile.

“Damn,” he’d breathed, his eyes squinting with humor, “if this is your slick way of gettin’ me to make it in the mornin’, it jus’ might work.”

We’d stopped at a family-style restaurant for lunch, filling our bellies with hot, freshly-made food, so a cold dinner of canned beans, jerky, and a couple of apples that we’d picked up at a roadside farmer’s stand wasn’t too much of a disappointment.  I held out a can of room-temperature beer to Duo.  He started reaching for it, then curled his fingers in and dropped his hand, refusing with a shake of his head.  We washed up in slightly-cold water from plastic jugs, brushed our teeth, and went to bed.  Duo turned off the emergency lantern and lay, stiff and alert, beside me in the dark.

I dared to reach for his hand again.  He rolled toward me and I drifted off with him in my arms, holding him close.

It was another bright, cloudless day and we’d gotten an early start lest a county sheriff patrol car pull up and knock on the camper door at an inopportune time.  Duo was jittery, rattling a couple of Reese’s Pieces candies in his fist in imaginary time with the static of the radio as we passed between the range of stations.

He popped them in his mouth, knocked them against his teeth, chewed.  Swallowed.  Drank deeply from the bottle of water tucked into the side pocket of the passenger-side door.  He screwed the cap back on and squeezed the plastic walls of the bottle until they crinkled.

I reached for the radio.  It was time to find a new station.

“My aunt an’ my granddaddy raised Solo an’ me,” he said suddenly.

I nodded — I remembered him telling me this before — but I didn’t interrupt him.  I switched off the radio.

“My Aunt Helen’s real nice, but my granddaddy’s always been king o’ the castle.  He was — he __is__ — a military man.  A Marine.  An’ damn proud to’ve served his country before comin’ home to work the Maxwell land.”

Despite the fact that I knew it was rehearsed — Duo spoke with the voice of a storyteller who knows how the tale ends — my imagination was already painting in the empty spaces on the canvas.  It made me wonder what details Duo might have envisioned yesterday as I’d offered my confession.

He explained, “The Maxwells have ranched cattle since _his_  granddaddy’s daddy came all the way from Scotland to stake a claim.  They say ranchin’ ‘s in a man’s blood, but it’s more ‘n that for us.  It’s our sacred duty.”

I honestly had no frame of reference for that kind of expectation.  It sounded suffocating.

“A Maxwell would rather die than let down his forefathers,” Duo told me.  “No matter how hard it gets to keep things goin’, we fight to our last breath so their sacrifices weren’ made in vain.”

He looked over and, before he could ask, I shook my head.  “No, I’ve never known anything like that.”

“Lucky you,” he exhaled, his voice real for the first time since he’d started his lecture.  But then that carefully modulated tone was back: “Solo and I were raised to be Maxwell cattle men.  It was always a given that we’d take over the ranch someday.  Run it together.  Though how we were supposed to do that without killin’ each other, I don’ know.”

I arched a brow at that.  Cathy was the closest thing I had to a sibling.  We annoyed each other: she butted into my business and I refused to talk to her about every little thing.  She’d slapped me that one time, but I would and could readily admit that I had fully deserved it.  Still, it sounded like Duo was talking about something different.

Duo elaborated, “From as far back as I can remember, our granddaddy was real sparse with his praise.  Like there was only enough for one of us at a time.  Just before his sophomore year o’ high school, Solo took up bronc riding.  I signed up for the bulls.  For the first time, our granddaddy jus’ mighta been equally proud o’ both of us.”

“Jesus,” I breathed.  It took a special kind of crazy to get on the back of an animal that was big enough, wild enough, and mad enough to kill a man if given half a chance.  I could not imagine what Duo’s home life must have been like to encourage that in someone who genuinely did not enjoy the sport and the risk of it; I remembered that night when I’d asked Duo why he rode bulls.  I remembered how he hadn’t been willing or able to explain his motivations to me.  It was no wonder he’d declined then.  We’d barely known each other.  And this was not something you could chat about over a beer.

The Maxwell family history lesson continued: “Solo’d win one an’ I’d have to do just as good or die tryin’.  We graduated high school and off he went to serve his country.  A Marine just like our granddaddy.  I’d never seen our granddaddy so proud of anyone or anythin’, ‘cept maybe his own daddy.”

The unfairness of it was just so—so fucking unfair—I made a concentrated effort to keep my breathing normal.  Level.  Calm.

“Well, I was done playin’ catch up.  I enrolled in the local community college to study business.  Solo was off doin’ the family proud while I was wastin’ time and money on some frou-frou school to learn shit no rancher’d ever need.  Granddaddy’d finished high school and what schoolin’ he’d got had been good enough for him, an’ I figure he reckoned it shoulda been good enough for me.”

I was really starting to dislike the elder Maxwell, and I hadn’t even met the man.

Duo drew a fortifying breath and I goggled in silent disbelief that there could be more, that the situation could be any worse than he’d already described.

“A few years back, some Hollywood actors an’ such noticed Montana.  Found out that it’s damn gorgeous land.  So they started buyin’ themselves a piece.  Prices for all kinds o’ shit went up; the price o’ beef cattle went down.  Hell, it’d been down for a whole lotta years.  Lotsa folks chose to sell, move on.  Not the Maxwells.  We were born on this land an’ we were gonna be buried in it one day.”

It occurred to me that Duo and I came from opposite walks of life.  I’d had a nomadic childhood until my mother’s accident.  I’d been nineteen when she’d gotten married and left to live with her rancher husband.  I’d never really understood why she hadn’t tried harder to get me to go with her, to convince me to get to know the man, to be a family.  I was starting to get a notion as to why she might have thought it would be a bad idea.

Duo narrated, “We had three real bad years in a row.  The last was—well.  Real, __real__  bad.  Had to re-mortgage the house and half the land to make ends meet.  An’ I knew that even if we had a great year — even if a miracle happened an’ the price of beef recovered — we wouldn’ make enough to avoid foreclosure.  I had Howard’s card from when he’d come to see the Bozeman country fair scoutin’ for riders to turn pro an’ I called him up.”

Given how talented Duo was, how sexy and desperate, Howard would have pissed himself with happiness.

“So, that’s what I’m comin’ home to,” Duo warned me.  “The lesser grandson who dodged his patriotic duty is bringin’ home the bacon.  It ain’t gonna make my granddaddy any prouder o’ me than he never has been, an’ it ain’t gonna make my brother tolerate me, but I’m a Maxwell.  I might not live up to the name in any other way, but I’m damn well gonna save the fucking farm.”

And, as per the Maxwell creed, they were going to have to let him do it.  It could have been a brilliant form of revenge if Duo hadn’t been such a beautifully warm-hearted man.

I ached for him.  They should have felt privileged to include him in their family, but all Duo seemed to have ever felt was inadequate.  It was enough to make me want to punch something.

I realized I’d been quiet too long when Duo said in an unsteady whisper, “You don’ have to come with me.  I understand.  I mean, hell, I wouldn’ wanna go.”

He _didn’t_  want to go.  That much was obvious, and the fact that he was dead-set on going anyway was just—

I checked the side-view mirror and flicked on the winker.

“Trowa, what—?”

I pulled over.  Braked to a stop.  Shut off the engine and threw off my seat belt.  I checked the road for on-coming traffic, then slammed out of my door and rounded the front of the camper.  Duo was still sitting there with his seat belt on, staring at me, when I yanked his door open.

“Get out,” I ordered.

He scrambled for the buckle.  I grabbed his arm and he slid across the seat, not even putting up a token resistance.

I pulled him out of the cab and into my arms.  I held him tight, too tight.  But then his arms were around my waist and he was squeezing me back, giving as good as he was getting from me, and I revised my estimation: maybe I wasn’t holding him too tight at all — maybe I wasn’t holding on tight enough.

“Duo,” I breathed into his ear, “you’re worth so much more than they made you believe.”

His hands fisted in the back of my shirt.  “Don’ try an’ make me feel better.”

But I could tell that he already did.  Just because I hadn’t dumped him on the side of the road.  Just because I’d said something kind — kind, but very true.

I thought of Duo’s transformation at the end of his last bull ride.  If he hadn’t made peace with this, then what had he come to terms with in that moment?

I could hear traffic passing at lazy intervals on the highway, but I didn’t give a damn.  I pulled back and pressed my lips to the corner of his mouth.  He turned toward me and I kissed him gently.  Over and over again with my fingers petting those fly-away strands from his face while he pulled me closer with dazzling strength.

He still had me in an unbreakable embrace when he whispered against my lips, “Are you real sure you wanna do this?”

I exhaled slowly.  “Did I or did I not save the Reese’s Pieces?”

The corners of his mouth kicked up.  “You did do that.”

“Like hell I’m letting you mess with my unblemished record.”

He grinned, overflowing with relief and joy and—if this wasn’t what love looked like, then I really didn’t know my asshole from my elbow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on the agriculture economics Duo briefly mentions: a large amount of land is necessary for growing hay and other feed. If there’s less land available, fewer crops and harvests are possible. This drives up prices for livestock feed (especially if quantities have to be brought in from distant locations, which adds transportation costs) and ranchers end up having to pay more than they’d budgeted for just to feed their herds. If they try to sell some animals earlier than planned in order to decrease feed costs, they can flood the market which means they can’t get full price for their animals. If enough rich out-of-towners buy up land for their own personal use, thereby removing it from the local economy, it aggravates this kind of situation. End result: feed prices go up, beef prices go down. (This is the issue Tami Hoag presents in her novel, “Dark Paradise,” that I mentioned in the opening notes of this fic.)
> 
> Also, now is a great time to go back and re-read this story from the beginning. You’ll be able to really understand Trowa (his low self-esteem, initial bitterness, internalized fear, cleaning as a source of anxiety management, etc.) on a whole new level.
> 
> When Trowa says he was a safety risk to the other guys, he’s talking about the window period (lasting 10 days to 3 months) during which someone who’s been infected with HIV will nonetheless test negative for it. In the 80s and 90s, HIV was finally gaining popular awareness in the U.S. and, at that time, it wasn’t remotely treatable or manageable for most afflicted residents: it was a guaranteed death sentence. Can you imagine Trowa’s horror? He finds out that his promiscuous partner has not been protecting him, so Trowa gets himself tested, and it comes back positive for an STD. Though I don’t have Trowa come out and say it in the story, what he had was a bacterial infection (e.g., Chlamydia), which is luckily curable with antibiotics, but it could just as easily have been HIV. With a scare like that, is it any wonder that Trowa withdrew from all sexual activity? Especially considering how criminally inconsiderate and irresponsible his partner had been?
> 
> On a re-read, you might also spot how protective Sal, Ralph, and Chris are of Trowa.  I think most bull riders and bullfighters (i.e., rodeo clowns in this fic) get along great, but because of what happened to Trowa, the dynamics are different at Bloom’s.  Also, that vague reference to a horseshoe getting thrown through a truck windshield in Part 1 should have some context now.  It was one of those things I wrote without knowing why... until I started contemplating Trowa's sexual history and what might have happened to bring him (and the guys) to that particular scenario in Part 1 when the guys form a buffer between Trowa and Duo and keep a close (but approving) eye on Trowa’s crush.
> 
> If you’re just as angry as Trowa was over Duo’s backstory, I don’t blame you! Growing up with a parental figure who can’t show affection and/or is manipulative is a particularly bad kind of mindfuck. However, we’ve just scratched the surface of the Maxwell family history and its effects on Duo.


	12. Motels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: smut and fluff
> 
> Music recs: “Love Alone” by Thriving Ivory / “This Side of Me” by Savage Garden

 

The camper hated the state of Colorado.  The unceasing climb in elevation toward Denver strained the decrepit engine, forcing us to pull over half a dozen times just to let it cool down.  When I steered into the parking lot of a Motel 6, Duo didn’t complain.  Both of us had had it with the temperamental piece of shit.

“What do you want on your pizza?” I asked Duo as we hauled our essentials over to our room.

He shrugged.  “Doesn’ matter.”

At my disbelieving look, he informed me, “My granddaddy didn’ tolerate picky eaters.”

“Well, he’s not here and the sky is the limit.”  I unlocked and shouldered open the door before I rephrased the question, “What do you _enjoy_  on your pizza?”

“Green olives an’ pepperoni.”

I gave him a kiss on the cheek for a reward.  “Shower’s all yours.  I’ll go get dinner.”  I’d seen a pizza place a block down.

I checked to make sure I had my wallet and the room key.  “Lock up behind me,” I asked him, but then paused when he put a hand on my arm.

“Thank you,” he said, struggling for words.  “You’re… you’re real good to me.”

“Duo.”  His gaze lifted to mine and I needed a moment before I could say, “If I’m ever _not_  real good to you, you had better kick my ass.”

I kissed him again, on the lips this time, and then I headed outside.  Waited beside the door for the sound of the lock.  Waited for my heart to draw in the emotion from my fisted hands.  With a deep breath, I focused on dinner.

It was only a five minute walk to the pizza place.  I ordered two medium pizzas — a pepperoni and green olive for him and a bacon and mushroom for me — and waited for them to be made.  I stopped by the vending machine in the motel parking lot and punched out a couple of cold drinks for us.  By the time I got back to the room, knocked, and let myself in, Duo was done in the bathroom.  His hair was loose and damp and there was a towel wrapped around his hips.

God help me if he wanted me to do back flips, pull down the moon, or offer up an arm and a leg.  I would not be able to say “no” to any of it with him looking like this.

I took refuge in the bathroom for a quick shower while he used the blow dryer in the main room.  When it came time to get dressed, I hesitated briefly before following his example and settling for a towel as dinner wear.  We’d have to locate a laundromat tomorrow for sure.  Also, I wondered if seeing me like this would distract him as badly as he could distract me.

The fifth time I caught him staring at my towel-draped crotch, I figured I could call it a draw.

After we’d finished eating, Duo chucked the empty pizza boxes and soda bottles in the garbage.  I sat down at the foot of one bed with the remote.  I was trying to find a channel with a weather report when Duo snuggled up behind me and started finger-combing my damp hair.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he began and I hummed an invitation for him to continue.

He slid a hand down my left arm and maneuvered it back so that I was palming his ass.  His bare ass.

I turned off the TV.  “Thinking, hm?  Sounds pretty exciting.  Tell me more.”

“You an’ me an’—”  His breath puffed against my neck, causing heat and goosebumps to flash over my bare arms and chest.  “It doesn’ matter where we are or where we’re headed.  I want this: you an’ me an’ that _more_  we talked about.  Us goin’ to Bozeman has got nothin’ to do with it.”

I turned and leaned back, took a long look at his expression.  “You going to let me be in charge this time?”

He blinked.  I’d surprised him again.  “Is that what you want?”

“It’s on the list,” I admitted.

“You’ve already got your Christmas list written up?”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, now, I don’ know if I’ve been nice enough this year.”

Now he was just being ridiculous.  I kissed him, loving how he leaned into it.  “Name one naughty thing you’ve done.”

Hah.  He couldn’t.  I’d stumped him.  Feathering my thumb over his lips, I slid off the bed and grabbed for my jeans.

“Where you goin’?”

“If today’s Christmas, then I’d better go get the presents.”

“Are these presents in your camper?”

“...yes.”

“Far cabinet on the right, above the bed?”

I stood there with the towel in one hand and my jeans in the other.  I knew which cabinet he was talking about.  Knew what was in it, too.  “Have you been snooping for—”

He grinned and grabbed for his duffel, tossing out the bottle of personal lubricant and recently purchased box of condoms onto the mattress.

“OK.  That was naughty,” I decided, dropping the jeans to the floor and returning to the bed with the mostly-dry towel in hand.

He grinned, curling his fingers around the back of my neck and dragging me close for a kiss.  God.  His mouth was pure heat and the promise of deep, rolling thrusts.  I thought helplessly of the way his hips had rolled with the flexing spine of a bull between his thighs and God help me if he ever decided that he wanted to ride my cock just like that.  It would kill me for sure.

But tonight we were going to find out if doing it the other way was any good for us.

Still, that didn’t mean I couldn’t introduce him to some other things he might like.

I straddled his lap as we kissed, as our hands roved.  I coaxed him onto his back, gently shifting his silky hair out of the way.  My lips mirrored his soft smile… that is, until I massaged his hardening cock and then sucked him into my mouth.

His spine twisted and he bit back a curse of enjoyment.  I sucked my way off of him very slowly, wrapped my fingers around his moist skin, and dipped lower, nuzzled his balls with my freshly shaven cheeks, licked and kissed, sucked and tongued him as my hand pumped him steadily.  His thighs spread wider and his hands fisted in the comforter.

“Trowa…” he pleaded and praised.  “Jesus.  That feels—”

I opened my mouth and sucked one testicle within, ran my tongue back and forth along the underside.  His thighs tensed and he mewled hotly.  I released him and moved to give the same attention to the other.  His legs opened even further and I transferred my grip from his cock to the back of his thighs.  Rolled him up for better access.

“Trowa?  What—?”

I painted a swath over his perineum.

“Oh… _oh.”_

I tongued him, massaged him through the delicate skin.  If the shocked, helpless noises he was making were any indication, this was not only new territory for him but my attention was very welcome here.

I dared a bit further, sliding my palms up the backs of his thighs and tucking my hands behind his knees, rocked him up and bared his juncture to me.  I leaned in and petted that circle of muscle with my tongue.

“Ah-ah-ah God!”

“This,” I told him between teasing licks and swirls of my tongue, “is where you’re going to be in me.”

He whimpered, beyond words.  And then I poked my tongue into that aperture.  Just a touch and he was mindlessly mewling.  I rocked his hips, delved just the tiniest increment into his body, showed him how sweet it could feel.  How soft.

“Oh.  Oh, Trowa. _Please.”_

I lowered his legs to the bed and appraised his level of excitement.  His cock was fully as hard and flushed as I’d ever seen it.  I licked up the drops glistening on the head just to watch his back arch.  Then I reached for the lube.  He watched with heavy-lidded eyes as I slicked two fingers and reached between my thighs.

Then Duo was scrambling for the lube as well.  “Can I?” he asked, his drawl edged with hot desperation.

My breath caught.  My arousal bobbed.  “Yes,” I said.  

His slick fingers disappeared from view, following after mine.  I guided him to my entrance, pressed the pads of his fingers against me, showed him how much pressure to use, how to massage me, and then I bore down and pushed my own finger inside.

Duo was panting, his chest flushed as he felt me move beneath his fingertips.  I withdrew, took his hand in mine, slid our index fingers against my opening and asked, “Together?”

“If—is it—are you—?”

“It’s all right.”  I bore down again and both of us were sliding in, side by side.

His throat worked as he tried to swallow.  “Oh, my God.”

“It’s going to feel real good,” I promised.

He groaned.  “It already does.”

Then I guided him to the place that would make me moan.  He found it and I shuddered hard at the sensation.

“Trowa?” he whispered.  “You all right?”

I nodded, sight unfocused, and breathed, “Gently.  Right there.”

I withdrew and braced myself above him as his touch sent sparks washing over my skin in one hot wave after another.  Oh, God.

“Add a second,” I ordered.  He did, and I rocked into and over his hand, setting off star bursts behind my closed eyes.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he breathed.

I could barely breathe.  “Spread your fingers.”

I met his gaze as stretched me.  

“All right?” I asked him.

His nod was frantic.

I grabbed a condom, opened the wrapper, and sheathed him.  Smeared more lube onto my fingers and coated him generously.  With my other hand, I pressed on his shoulder and he lay back, his unbound hair tumbling over the edge of the bed.

I wanted to say something, something he’d always remember, but I couldn’t think of anything.  I grabbed his hand, interlaced our fingers, and then guided his cock to where I needed to feel it.

“Slowly,” I reminded him and his jaw clenched as I slid down.  His eyes closed, his shoulders pressed back against the mattress, a faint whine eked out of his throat.

“Good,” I praised him.  “That’s—so good.”  His cock pushed against my flesh, the friction rippling through me.  Tidal waves of steaming want.  Jesus.  “Just—another moment.”

I sat down upon his thighs, filled with every hard, hot inch of him.  Yes, this.  With him.  All I wanted in life was right here.

He was panting, his fingers tightening around mine hard enough to hurt.  I took a deep breath, let it out, then gave a shallow thrust.  Ah, __yes.__   Perfection.

He gasped hard, thrusting up in a short, aborted twitch of his hips.

“Yes,” I begged him on a moan.  “Let yourself move.”

He rolled his hips and I followed him, urged him to ride with me.  And—Jesus, he was so good at this.  Felt so good.  Worth waiting for.  So much.  So worth waiting for.

He moaned thinly, grabbing for my hips.  “Oh, Trowa, oh, I can’t—you’re too—so good—I’m sorry!”

He thrust up again and again in quick succession, his entire body drew taut as he emptied himself.  I stayed with him, reached for him, soothed him.  My own arousal was throbbing for attention, but I focused on him.

His lashes fluttered and I called to him, “Duo.”

“God, I am so sorry—that was—”

“Beautiful,” I cut in.  “And really good.”

He looked miserable.  “But you didn’—”

I smirked.  “Not yet.  Would you like to help with that?”

He nodded and reached for my cock.  Petted me slowly from base to tip, causing my hips to jerk, chasing after the phantom touch.  He was still inside me and I angled my hips, made a concentrated effort not to push him out.

I rode him slowly, bit my lip and met his gaze and let him pull softly at my flushed cock.  Breaths and heartbeats turned in to ticks and tocks of the clock.  I watched and felt him caress me, torment me, keep me on edge for as long as I could stand it.

And then I broke.  “Duo,” I breathed, arching my spine and rubbing needily against him until the friction made my balls ache.  “Please.”

He hissed.  And I felt it—he was pushing back against my inner walls.  Getting hard again.  I paused long enough to check that the condom was still on, then I tilted my hips so that he was pressing against me in the best way.  I moved over him, absorbed in the unending, flesh-tingling super nova of it, and he was still tugging on my cock and—oh God.

“Oh God oh God oh God—hng, Duo.  Oh, fuck me—so good.”

And then I was exploding in his hand and over his chest.  He groaned as my body locked down around his cock and his hips twitched in a frantic rhythm—brief and telling.  His gaze blanked and his eyes squeezed shut as he gave himself up to the sensation and came again.

I braced myself over him and just let myself breathe.  He groaned softly as his senses returned.  Before I collapsed in a useless sprawl, I lifted myself off of him and dealt with the used condom.  I gently wiped us down with the towel and then I dived onto the comforter beside him.

“Trowa?” he whispered.

“Hm?”

His hand brushed along my arm and I rolled toward him, found him ready to meet me.  We kissed messily, exhausted and sated.  I pulled him close.  Nuzzled his hair.  Hooked my leg over his hip and held on.

He was quiet and still for so long that I thought he’d fallen asleep.  I summoned the effort needed to open my eyes and check.  He was watching me, studying me.

Given what he’d told me about his childhood — about constantly being measured against his brother and coming up short — I knew I had to say something.

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

He tilted his chin to the side: an abbreviated shake of the head.

“You’re never gonna be able to get rid of me now.”

He grinned.  “’s that so?”

“Yup.  Drool on me all you want.  Leer.  Eat Reese’s Pieces in bed.  You’re stuck with me.”

Nobody smiled like Duo Maxwell.

When his fingertips traced my lips, I realized I was beaming with joy.  He’d told me once that he thought I had a beautiful smile, that he wanted to be a reason for it.

Well, he was.  And had been for a long while.  But I didn’t think he’d really noticed — or believed it — until now.

The next morning, we took quick showers before check-out.  The camper managed a piddly eighty-four miles before we had to let it cool down.  We pulled into a laundromat and took over three machines.  Duo sat in a sexy, cowboy sprawl in the hard, plastic seat beside mine.  Our shoulders bumped.

“Let’s find another hotel tonight.”

It was Sunday, so the odds of getting a space at a campground weren’t the best, but it was still possible.  But I remarked, “So that’s how it is?  One taste of the good life and there’s no going back.”

“Damn right,” he retorted, “an’ I’m in charge.”

My sidelong glance met his lustful look and a simmer started up in my belly.  I burned through folding clothes and linens, through lunch, through another hundred and twelve miles and a pit stop to purchase radiator fluid and a quart of oil.  An additional three hours later, when Duo ordered me to investigate the Vacancy sign on a Super 8 Motel, I didn’t argue.

“Are you hungry?” I made myself ask, tossing my bag of necessities on the hotel room chair.

“YES,” Duo answered and I knew that tone.  Urgent and immovable.

I found myself naked and caged down on the bed by an equally naked former bull rider.  His lips latched onto mine and oh how I wanted that fantasy—wanted my cock deep inside him as his hips flexed and rocked on top of me—but not this time.  Not yet.  

I rolled us, rubbing my entire body over his — skin-on-skin — in slow, shallow thrusts.  There was no part of him I didn’t ache to touch.  His hands searched-clawed-grasped over my shoulders and back and the sound of my name and his pleas for more in that breathless drawl—God, save me.

I tried to go slow, I truly did, but he wanted it all and he wanted it now.  My slick hand pumped his cock, rolled his heavy balls, massaged the flesh beneath, and then drew teasing circles around his entrance.

“Fuck fuck fuck— please, Trowa, please!”

“Bear down,” I murmured against his trembling lips.  He did and one finger was sliding in.  I massaged him, asking the muscle to relax—

“Deeper,” he commanded.  “Like where you showed me—Holy God!”

I rubbed him to the counterpoint of his inarticulate mewls, his legs spreading wider and hips shifting into my touch.

“It gets better with two,” I informed him.

“Show me show me show me—aah!  Fuck!”

It was pure torture to feel him — so hot and tight — as I struggled to stretch him.  His need was pushing me to the limits of my sanity.  His urgent whines were addictive and all I wanted was to crash into him, fill him up, and drive him out of his mind.

“Trowa—oh, God—I’m ready, aren’ I?  Jesus, please.”

I tore into the condom wrapper, sheathed my aching cock, and slathered a messy portion of lubricant on.  Then I was lifting Duo’s legs, levering him up and aligning our bodies.  I pressed against him and somehow, I managed to say, “You’re in charge.”

“Then what’s the hold-up, damn it?”

I reminded him, reminded both of us: “No, stop, slow down.  OK?”

He nodded, rolling his hips with impatience that I had very little hope of actually satisfying.  The first time would burn; it was inevitable.

“Bear down, love.”

His tongue poked out between his drawn lips and I flexed my hips forward.  Slow, so fucking slow.  He was still panting; his cock was still flushed and hard; he twisted the bed covers in his hands.

“OK?” I prompted as I moved steadily deeper.

“God, yes.  Trowa, oh, Jesus.  I feel you so hard.”

I groaned and reaffirmed my grip on his thighs.  And then I was buried inside him, burning, gasping and grasping for sanity because the sight of him laid out on the bed, moaning softly, was too much.

He rolled his hips — “Please, I need—!” — and I answered with a shallow thrust that made his spine bow and his nipples were hard and fuck me he was gorgeous.  I moved again and he whimpered as he met and matched the motion.  I shrugged his legs over my arms, got a good grip on his hips, pulled back slowly and then plunged in again with equal slowness.  His mouth fell open.  I did it one more time, fighting the urge to snap my hips and come hard and fast.

“Tr—Trowa,” he cried quietly and I changed my angle just enough to stroke him where he’d— “Ah-aah!”

His voice cracked on the soft exclamation and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to make this last.  I settled into a rhythm that Duo approved with every undulation of his strong, supple body.  

“Duo, oh God—”

I’d wanted and I’d waited and every agonizing moment of it had been worth it.  Completely and totally worth it.

He fumbled for his lube-slicked cock.  “I can’t—I gotta—!”

“God, yes,” I approved.  “Show me.”

I rubbed him deep and his fist pumped along his flushed length as I flexed my hips, moved inside him, wanting and having and giving and taking and more and more and more—!

His body locked down around my cock — the spurts were shooting up his belly and chest and I pulled him closer, flush against the cradle of my hips as I chased after that heat and tightness and—

I had no memory of ever coming so spectacularly in my life.  I came back to myself, panting hard enough to feel my lungs burn, still holding Duo’s hips tightly to the cradle of mine.  I was still inside him and he was looking at me over the creamy mess on his torso.

“We’re gettin’ our own place,” he informed me.  “As soon as we can.  ‘Cuz I need this — you.  As often as possible.”

I grinned, laughed, nodded my agreement.

He locked his legs around my waist and I leaned over.  Kissed him as thoroughly as my breathless body would allow.  Rocked back in his arms, looked into his eyes, and licked up his release from off his skin.

His fingers tangled in my bangs and pushed them back.  “Your hair still tickles.”

I shrugged, unrepentant.  “Nobody’s perfect.”

His look told me he thought that was bullshit and I, silently, agreed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the Maxwells!
> 
> ALSO! We have more fanart. Bull rider Duo and rodeo clown Trowa by ShenLong - THANK YOU, SHEN!!  
> http://www.gundam-wing-diaries.foreverfandom.net/gw/Duo%20Bull.htm


	13. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “Monoplain” by Susan Enan

 

“There are three things you gotta know,” Duo announced.  He was sitting up, spine ram-rod straight, anticipating the turn-off coming up.

“Fire when ready.”

He said, “First, my granddaddy’s given name is Daniel, but you gotta call him ‘Mister Maxwell’ or ‘sir.’”

I nodded.  “OK.”

“Second, my Aunt Helen hates being called ‘Miss Maxwell’ or ‘ma’am’ — I’ve always called her An-Heli, but I reckon you can call her ‘Helen.’”

“I can do that.”

“Third and most important, my brother an’ I are gonna fight an’ it’s gonna get ugly — an’ you probably won’ like me very much when that happens—”

Which meant that Duo didn’t like _himself_ very much when he was provoked.  I was starting to be able to read between the lines and hear what Duo really meant to say.

“—but you absolutely cannot get between us,” he instructed bluntly.  “Unless I’m choking the life outta his dumb ass, then you have my permission to haul me off o’ him by my braid if that’s what it takes.”

“It won’t come to that.”

“Oh yes, it will.  Once a day, minimum.”

“At least you’re optimistic.”

There was a beat of silence and then he chuckled darkly.  “Well, sunshine, I’m sure glad one of us is.”

Tense silence stretched out between us.  He stared out through the windshield at the winter-brown, scrub-brush-speckled, crumpled-paper-slopes of the hills.  The terrain had a quiet, understated beauty and it was hard to reconcile this spiritual landscape with the struggle for land that Duo had described.  It was an unlikely place for a war to be waged, but war was here.  Truly.  

Just this afternoon, we’d cruised through the main street of downtown Bozeman and parked at the bank.  I’d waited in the cab of the camper while Duo had gone in to handle the issue of his earnings and the lean on his family’s property.  I’d scanned the street, marveled at the mix-mash of two worlds colliding: there was a feed store next to an organic coffee cafe, a general store sandwiched between sparkling art galleries.  Ranchers in cheap Levis and wide-brimmed hats.  Out-of-towners in cashmere sweaters and Italian-made loafers.  They passed each other on the sidewalk without acknowledging the other’s existence.  This was a town on the verge of cracking down the middle.

I selfishly wished us back on the road.  The camper had constantly threatened to break down, but Duo had been so eager to enjoy life, to absorb every moment.  More than once, I’d caught him watching me with a certain look in his eyes: a man who would die before he allowed his happiness to be taken from him.

I hoped Duo’s homecoming wouldn’t be as bad as he feared, but I was realistic enough to brace myself for anything.  And I trusted Duo’s version of events to be based on truth.

“Take this left,” he softly requested and despite the fact that we were the only ones out here on this country road, I flipped on the winker.

“An’ you might wanna slow down some more.”

I did as instructed and we rolled instead of bounced from one hollow in the dirt track to another.

This was perhaps my last chance to reassure him.  “Does your grandfather have a shotgun?”

“’course.  Why do you ask?”

I informed him grimly, “Because that’s what it’s going to take to make me leave you here.”  And even then, I wouldn’t be going further than Bozeman until I could wait the old buzzard out.

“I’m in love with you.”

I smiled at the reverence in his voice.  I dared a glance his way.  “Bull snot.”

That was all I had to say to shock a brief, hard laugh from him.

But then I said, earnestly, “I’ve waited a lot longer than one rodeo season for you.”  It was true.  Duo Maxwell was all I’d ever wanted or dreamed of from the moment I’d realized it was possible for human beings to spend their lives in pairs.  “I’d wait longer.  If had to.  Nobody’s getting rid of me, Duo.”

There was a pause, but I couldn’t take my attention off of the path ahead to check on him.  He told me, “I believe you.”

And I believed he did.

We squeaked and swayed over a swell and I could see the focal point of a ranch laid out in a small holler just down the drive.  A two-story white farmhouse with a wrap-around porch.  A rusty, blue pickup truck.  A big red barn with white trim.  Barbed wire fences marched off in the cardinal directions.  What I’d initially thought were short, scraggly trees and brush in the distance focused into cattle.

I rolled the camper down the uneven drive and Duo pointed me over to a spot that I took to be out of the way.  I pulled up alongside the house.  Parked.  Duo took a deep breath.  We unbuckled our seat belts.  I reached for Duo’s hand.

“Together,” I told him.

He smiled and nodded.

We got out of the camper.

The sunshine was warm, but there was a chill in the air.  I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans, hunching a little into my denim jacket.  Duo had his worn, leather jacket on and I could see where the knit cuffs had been repaired more than once.

The squeal of a screen door had us both looking up and over toward the front of the house.  A middle-aged blonde woman stepped outside, wiping her hands on a bleached-white apron.  She turned in our direction and for a moment, her face was blank of recognition.

I hung back and Duo took a step forward and then she was hurrying down the steps and over to him.

“Duo, darlin’!”

“Hey, An-Heli,” he answered through a smile.

They stepped into each other’s arms and I was relieved.  Just glad that someone here would welcome him home.

“I’ve been so worried about you!” she fussed.

“I shoulda called,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Yes, you should have.”  She rubbed his arms through the leather jacket sleeves and turned her attention toward me.  “An’ who’s this?”

“Trowa Barton,” Duo announced, doing the honors.  “He’s a safety man with the rodeo.”

I offered my hand and an explanation for my presence here: “Season’s over and I have family nearby.  Just giving Duo a ride home.”

“How kind of you!  Are you hungry?  C’mon inside—”

The sound of ball bearings roaring along their track rumbled across the drive like thunder.  We all turned to watch an older man slide the side door to the barn shut before he began ambling toward us.  His pace was unhurried and his shoulders squared, giving him a presence that demanded our attention.

He came up to our gathering and I was surprised that the man wasn’t taller.  He was even a bit shorter than Duo.  But what he lacked in height, he made up for in the steel of his gaze.  The wind shushed past as he scanned Duo from Stetson to sole.

Duo didn’t say a word.  He reached for the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a sealed white envelope.  He held it out to his grandfather, who took it, opened it, scanned the paper within, then folded it up and tucked it away.

Finally, he held out his hand for Duo to shake.

“Well done,” the elder Maxwell said.

Duo nodded.  “Thank you, sir.”

I was back to trying to think of a reason not to hit something.

“Who are you?”

I didn’t wait for Duo to introduce me this time.  “Trowa Barton.  From Bloom’s Rodeo.”  I kept my face neutral as I offered my hand.

Duo’s grandfather looked from me to my camper and back again.  “Long way from those parts, aren’ you?”

“It was on my way, sir.”

He accepted that and my hand.  I matched the strength of his grip.  He gave me a long, critical look.  Clearly, he disapproved of my hairstyle, but he didn’t say a thing.

Somehow, that was more stinging than an actual insult.

“Duo,” Helen said warmly, “we’re so glad to have you back home.  Mister Barton, will you be staying for supper?”

I opened my mouth to answer when the screen door squealed open again and I heard a man’s voice.  “Well, if it ain’t the U. S. of A’s second best bull rider.”

Duo didn’t stiffen at the jeering insult.  He faced off with the figure slowly making his way along the porch to look down on us.  Duo said lightly, “Turns out second best was good enough.”

“You’ve come in second often enough to know, I reckon.”

Three things occurred to me in that moment.

First, I was glaring at Duo’s brother, Solo Maxwell.

Second, this angry asshole was only able to stand thanks to the braces clamped around his legs and a cane in each hand.

Third, he and Duo were identical twins.

Identical.  Twins.

Identical twin brothers with damn near no resemblance to each other.

For one thing, Solo’s hair was only slightly longer than military regulation.  Duo had said that Solo had been a proud Marine — and their grandfather had been proud of him — but now here he was, broken and resenting his own flesh and blood.  I stared into the carbon copy of Duo’s handsome, honest features and felt sick at the sight of them twisted and soured by rivalry.

“Who’s this clown?” he demanded with a nod in my direction.  Solo didn’t even do me the courtesy of looking me in the face.

Duo’s hands fisted.  “Ask him yourself.”

“Duo,” Helen quietly chided him and then obligingly told Solo who I was.

He laughed out loud, hard and sharp.  “So you really are a damn clown.”  He thought this was very funny.  “This happen to be the useless wonder you stopped that bull for?”

Duo’s jaw clenched.  “It surprises me that you’d even bring that up.”

Solo shrugged.  “Yeah, well.  It ain’t often you do somethin’ right.  Figured I’d throw you a bone.  Welcome home,” he sneered.

“’s great to be back.  Thanks, Gimpy.”

Fury flashed in Solo’s dark blue eyes.

“Boys.”  One world from Daniel Maxwell and they froze.  There was a snarl on Solo’s face and a tilt to Duo’s chin that warned of an oncoming beating.  “You’ll be civil for the ladies or you’ll sleep in the barn.”

That gave Duo pause.  “Beg your pardon.  Ladies?” he checked, emphasizing the “s”.

Helen hooked her arm through Duo’s and motioned for me to follow them.  “Well, seein’ as how you never called or wrote, you wouldn’ know about Hilde.  Solo’s wife.”

Somehow, I didn’t trip over my own shock.

“Is she here?” Duo asked.

“She works at the clinic in town,” Daniel Maxwell said and went up the steps, pausing to hold the door open for Helen, who elaborated, “She’s usually back by six-thirty, in time for supper.  I hope you’ll stay, Mister Barton.”

“I’d love to.  Thank you.  Call me Trowa.”

“Call me Helen.”

We tromped into the house, toeing our boots off in the brick entryway.

“I’m real sorry for just showin’ up like this,” Duo told his aunt.  “What can we do to help out?”

She scolded, “Don’ you go volunteerin’ Trowa for work.  He’s a guest.”

“I don’t mind,” I offered.  “It’ll be nice to do something other than drive.”

Behind me, I heard a derisive snort.  “Figures you’d stick someone else with the chore of haulin’ your dead weight around.”

Duo spun to face his brother and snarled, “At least I got both options, don’ I?”

Solo swung a fist right for Duo’s face, but Duo dodged and in the next instant he was pinning Solo to the wall with both hands gripping the collar of his brother’s shirt.

“Duo,” Daniel Maxwell barked.  “You’re in the barn tonight.”

Solo smirked.  Duo smirked right back.  “Yes, sir.”

I was confused and furious on Duo’s behalf.  Why did no one take Solo to task for being an instigating shithead?

Daniel Maxwell turned down a photo-lined hallway and disappeared deeper into the house.  Duo let Solo shrug him off and then Duo nudged me toward the right.  We followed Helen, as she sighed and shook her head, leading us into the kitchen.

“Wash an’ peel these for me, darlin’,” Helen kindly asked, pulling two more potatoes out of the sack beside the refrigerator.

The sound of footsteps approached as Daniel Maxwell passed the archway.  “Not finished in the barn yet,” he declared.  I heard the scuff of boot heels on the brick entryway.  The door opened and shut.

Duo passed me the peeler on an apologetic look.

“I’ll give him a hand,” he informed Helen and then added, “since I interrupted him an’ all.”

Duo’s jacket sleeve brushed mine as he left the room and left me in the company of the only tolerable Maxwell.  He put his boots on and I listened to the sound of the door opening and closing a second time.  Then I shrugged out of my jacket, rolled up the sleeves of my flannel shirt, and asked if it was OK to wash up here.

Helen nodded and we got to work.  I knew she was curious about me, and I was prepared for a friendly interrogation, but what she said was, “They didn’ always used to behave that way.”

I didn’t know what kind of comment to make to that.

She predicted with optimism, “Once they’ve been under the same roof for a bit, they’ll remember that they’re brothers.”

“Not if Duo’s in the barn,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

She sighed.  But she didn’t try to defend Daniel’s decree.  She didn’t speak against Solo, either.  But then again, I was a stranger to her.  Whatever her true thoughts were on the issue, she kept them to herself.

We wrapped the potatoes and put them in the oven beside the roast that was already slow-cooking.  We tossed a salad and set the table.  With everything done but the gravy, I excused myself to use the bathroom.

Helen pointed me down the photo-lined hallway.  “First door on the right.”

I passed the staircase and continued on to the indicated door.  I made use of the facilities and borrowed a fresh hand towel from the shelf and washed my face.  Exiting, I took a moment to glance at the two doors on the opposite side of the hall.  Daniel Maxwell had come down this way after entering the house and I was curious as to where he’d gone.  I doubted he was out in the barn with the letter from the bank still tucked in his jacket pocket, so one of these probably opened into a home office.  Maybe that was where Solo was now.

Knowing better than to start knocking on doors — no matter how tempted I was to knock Solo’s head against a wall — I snooped in the hallway itself, moving from one photo to the next.  Maxwell family portraits going back to the days of sienna photography were spaced between shots of the house, the barn, Maxwell men astride horses as they herded cattle.

There was a family portrait of Daniel and Helen with a pair of ten-or-twelve-year-old boys.  I paused, astonished to see that both Duo and Solo were wearing their hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.  Loose, that hair would have brushed their shoulders.  From what I’d heard of their grandfather, Daniel would never have allowed this, unless… could this have been Helen’s doing?

I imagined two little boys, hungry for affection, taking turns as their aunt dried their freshly washed hair in the evening, and then combed it and tied it every morning before school.  Yes, that might explain the long hair.  Why Daniel had permitted it in the first place, though… had he known — did he know — that he was unable to give his grandsons the warmth they craved?

A question that would remain unanswered: asking Duo would be too painful.  And I was in no position to bring my theory to Helen.  Well, at least I could tell which boy was Duo — it was clear in the playful tilt of his head and mischievous smile.  Solo grinned at the camera straight-on, cocky and confident, aggressive in a way that Duo likely never had been.

The most recent photo appeared to have been taken during their late high school years.  Solo’s hair was short.  Duo’s was in a messy braid, but from the angle of the camera I wasn’t able to see how long it had grown in the intervening years.  Both brothers were smiling — Solo was smirking and Duo was dimpling — each of them posing in a paddock with yearling colts.  Duo’s was nearly white with a dusting of rosy-brown freckles over its entire body.  Solo’s was dun-colored with a black mane and tail.

The sound of a car driving up drew me out to the living room.  I paused by the window as a red Jeep pulled in and young woman with short, tousled black hair got out.  She studied my camper with open curiosity, slung her purse over her shoulder, and started for the front steps.

A door down the hall opened and the double-thump of Solo’s canes knocked against the hardwood floor and threadbare carpet runner.  I ducked into the kitchen and watched Helen fuss with this and that.

I listened as Solo opened the door for his wife.  A quick kiss on the lips.  “How was your day, beautiful?” he asked and I could not reconcile the man in this gentle moment with the bitter dickwad who’d greeted me and his brother.

I glanced at Helen, brows arched in surprise.  She anticipated my reaction with a smile.  “She’s real good for him,” she explained very quietly.

I couldn’t argue with that.

“My day was long without you,” his wife answered playfully.  “Do we have guests?”

“Duo’s here.  With a rodeo fella.”

A moment later, an oval-shaped face peered around the edge of the archway and smiled brightly at the sight of me.  She was still wearing her coat and carrying her purse, clearly excited to see her husband’s twin brother.  It wasn’t fair that she was meeting me first.

She appeared just as thrilled, however.  “Well, hello.  I’m Hilde.”

She came around to offer her hand.  I stepped away from the counter and took it.  “Trowa Barton.  Trowa,” I insisted.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Solo hovered on the other side of the archway in the living room, overseeing.

“Are you a friend of Duo’s?” she guessed.

I nodded and admitted, “He saved my life.”

Hilde’s brows rose.  Solo further explained my background by saying, “He’s a safety man.”

She was quick on the uptake, giving me a long look before concluding, “And you’ve saved his.”

“No.  Nothing like what he did for me.”  No one could do what Duo had done for me… or what he did every day.

The front door opened again and we all turned, waiting for Duo to kick his boots off.  He didn’t spare his brother a glance as he came over, his cheeks rosy and wind-kissed.

“Hilde,” Solo said with utmost chivalry, “this is Duo.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Duo said, offering his hand.

“The pleasure’s mine.  I’ve heard so much about you!”

“The one about pullin’ the Christmas calf is pure cock-a-mammy,” he charmingly insisted.  “I did all the work.  Solo was the one tossin’ his cookies all over the place.”

Solo punched him in the arm hard enough to make Duo nearly stumble sideways.

Duo rolled with it.  “See?  Not even denyin’ it.”

“Get washed up, darlin’s,” Helen interrupted with timing that must have been perfected over years of maintaining the peace.

“Ladies first,” Duo insisted and Hilde retreated to get ready for dinner.  Duo shared a brief look with Solo and then he was wandering into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.  He gave me a smile.

I glimpsed Daniel Maxwell as he headed through the living room for the stairs, which creaked under his weight.

“How’s the tractor look?” Helen asked into the awkward silence.

“Oh, it doesn’ look any different,” Duo teased her, “but it’s runnin’ now.”

“It would have one way or another,” Solo muttered, downplaying Duo’s contribution.

Duo’s smile tightened, but he ignored the jibe.  Duo was the last one to wash up and then we were all sitting around the table, passing the homemade gravy.  

“An-Heli,” he sighed following his first taste of roast beef, “oh how I’ve missed your cookin’.”

It was very good.  Easily out-striping the cantina’s attempts.  I spooned a second serving of gravy over the potato on my plate and held the bowl out to him.

My fingers brushed Duo’s and our gazes met.  There were too many things that I wanted to say to him, so I said nothing.

I looked away and caught Hilde’s attempt to bite down on a knowing smirk as she added more butter to her baked potato.

Oh, hell.  What was this going to end up costing Duo?  Only time would tell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I come from a family that is blessed and/or plagued with twins. Not sure if that’s why I’m fascinated by studies on identical and paternal twins, but whatever. The fact that both Duo and Solo enter serious, long-term monogamous relationships within the same year could be a twins thing -- I’ve heard of studies done that compare the parallels that occur in the life choices of twins.
> 
> Mostly, I needed to get Trowa’s reaction. Like, the instant when he realizes that Solo and Duo are identical twins. That. It had to be a thing. My life is now complete. (OK, not really, but more complete, anyway.)


	14. Ranching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sunny Came Home” by Shawn Colvin

 

Despite further protests from Helen, Duo volunteered us to clean up the kitchen.  I washed.  He dried and put everything in its proper place.  His aunt sat at the small kitchen table and gave Duo an update on all the people he’d been out of touch with over the past months.  One name came up that caught my attention.

“This bein’ Thanksgiving week, Relena’s sure to be back home visitin’ her folks.  You might call her up an’ say hello,” Helen suggested in a tone which implied that doing so would make Duo’s aunt very happy.

“I might,” Duo not-promised lightly.  “I didn’ see Dermail’s Market when I came through town today.”

“They got bought out.”

Duo turned at that.  “Closed up?”

“Naw, just moved off the main street ‘s all.”

He nodded and Helen moved on to news on other local families.

When we were done, we shuffled into the living room where Hilde and Solo were watching the news from the comfort of the sofa.  Daniel Maxwell was commanding a reclining armchair that was clearly the seat of honor in the house.

Helen offered to make up the sofa for me tonight, but Solo cut in before I could decline.  “Jus’ use Duo’s room.  Since he won’ be in it.”

Hilde frowned in confusion.

“I’m fine in the camper,” I insisted.

“I’ll walk you out,” Duo announced, already putting his boots on.  “Good night,” he called.  “See y’all in the mornin’.”

Helen came over and gave Duo a kiss on the cheek and, out of sight from those in the room, she stroked a few flyaway strands of hair back, tucking them into the weave of his braid.  The brief gesture was telling.  An answer to my quandary earlier in the hallway, perhaps.

Solo gave us a distracted nod.

Hilde waved.  “Good night,” she said.

Daniel Maxwell said nothing.

The door shut behind us and the night chill crashed through the demin of my jacket and the flannel of my shirt.  I hunched my shoulders as Duo and I clattered down the steps.

“You are not sleeping in the fucking barn,” I told him quietly.

He shrugged.  “’s not so bad.  There’s a couple o’ camp rolls an’—”

“I am not letting you sleep in the barn,” I clarified, grabbing his arm and angling him toward the camper.

“I won’ freeze,” he insisted impishly.

“I will.  You’re keeping me warm tonight.”

“I am, am I?”

“Yes.  It’s what boyfriends do.  Get in.”  I held the door open for him and, with a smirk, in he went.  Fifteen minutes later, we were huddling together under every blanket I owned and our combined body heat was finally starting to push back the cold.  He leaned in for a minty kiss.

“Good thing I got myself kicked outta the house tonight, innit?”

I reared back and studied his cat-got-the-cream smile in the glow of the emergency lantern.  “You planned that.”

“’course I did.  This is a whole lot better than not-sleepin’ all night, thinkin’ about you on that damn sofa all by your lonesome.”

I’d known Duo was smart with words, but I hadn’t expected this.  Again, too many remarks tripped and tangled my tongue.  My reply consisted of a long kiss.  He snuggled closer and I ran a hand down his back and up under the edge of his shirt.

“Damn,” he breathed.  “You’re not even gonna object to my methods?”

“No,” I informed him, “no, I’m not.”  The ends justified the means, in my opinion.  “Give Solo a piece of your mind in front of your grandfather every damn day if it gets you kicked out for the night.”

Besides, the asshole had had it coming.  I was not going to begrudge Duo stooping to his level.  Instead, I kissed him some more.  I petted his back and he tucked his head against my cheek and that was how we fell asleep.

It was dark when Duo’s wiggling woke me.  “Duo—what time is it?”

“Time for me to go, sunshine.  You can sleep longer.”  He slid out from under the covers.

“I’m coming with you,” I insisted.

Our heads bumped as I sat up and he leaned down.  He turned to press a kiss to my temple.  “Lemme go first.  Come out in a half an hour.  I’ll be in the barn.”

“I don’t like this part of your plan,” I informed him.

He sighed.  “I know.”  He kissed my cheek.  “Sleep a little more, then come find me.”

With that, he pulled away and started yanking on his clothes.  Two miserable minutes later, I heard the camper door open and then shut softly.  I huddled under the blankets with his lingering body heat and tried not to remember all the times I’d been able to wake up next to him on the road.  Hold him in my arms.  Talk about nothing.  Get up only when our bodies — belly or bladder or both — demanded it.  Having been given that privilege, I was deeply resentful of having to give it up now.  Just because of a couple of narrow-minded jerks.

Narrow-minded jerks who were Duo’s family.

And I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything that might cause them to turn against him.

But I was not going to just lie here in our bed without him.

I got up and dressed in layers.  Thermal underwear, my thickest flannel shirt, a cock-eyed sweater that Cathy had knitted for me a few years back, and my warmest jacket.  I washed up.  I took inventory for my next trip to the supermarket and drug store.

Whether thirty minutes had passed or not, I was done leaving Duo to his punishment.  Which was __our__ punishment, in actuality.

I grabbed my work gloves on my way out the door and started across the yard.  Amazingly, there was a light on in the kitchen.  A shadow moved across the window and then I saw Helen at the sink.

I turned in a circle, surveying the horizon.  It was just starting to glow off in the east.

The day started early at my stepfather’s place, too, but I tended to keep out of the way.  I was never there long enough to become part of the daily goings-on of ranching.  Even in the off-season, there was plenty to do at the rodeo, so my visits were always brief.  I’d wait until my stepfather headed out and my mother was free to talk before I’d bother to get up.  Now, though, I had a different motivation.

I went up to the house and knocked softly on the door.  Helen answered with two steaming cups of coffee. “Good mornin’,” she said.

“Good morning,” I echoed.  “I thought I’d ask to, um, take some coffee over to Duo.”

“I figured.”  Smiling, she handed over both cups.  “You take milk or sugar?”

At this hour, they’d only get in the way of the caffeine.  I shook my head.

“Breakfast’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll be there.”  I turned away.  Stopped.  “Thank you,” I told her.

She was still smiling as she shut the door.  I used the side door on the barn that Daniel had emerged from the day before and pulled it shut behind me.  There was a single bare bulb glowing along the main aisle.  I headed for it.

“Duo?” I called.

A door slid open revealing a well-lit tack room and my boyfriend’s happy smile.  “Point that coffee this way.”

I obliging swiveled to face him.

He crooked his finger, beckoning me closer.

“Oh, I see.  Point and deliver.”

“Now you’re gettin’ the hang of it.”

“I may have a future in food delivery after all.”

“Watch your step,” Duo directed and I lifted my feet over the board across the threshold.  He nodded me over to the pair of camping chairs set up beside an electric space heater.  On a shelf high along the wall was a line of rolled up of sleeping bags.  Beneath it, there was a narrow canvas cot.  A small refrigerator next to the sink.  The walls were whitewashed boards that were surprisingly resistant to the cold.

“See?  ‘s not so bad.”

I handed him his cup of coffee.  “Would have been a tight fit with Solo.”

“Now who’s naughty,” Duo teased.  “My brother’s a married man, Mister Barton.”

It took me a moment to realize Duo had twisted my words around to poke fun at me.  I waggled my brows at him.  “But I hear he’s got a brother.”

“If you’ve got your own camper truck, you might jus’ have a chance.”  He winked.

We finished our coffee and Duo shut off the heater before we left the room.  Down the aisle, I heard a soft nicker.  Duo passed me his empty cup and I followed him down toward the occupied stalls.  There were four horses.  Duo dropped a fleck of hay into each stall, stopping at the last one to scratch at the forehead of a stocky, white cattle pony with a dusting of freckles over his entire body.

“Who’s this?” I asked, recognizing the animal from the hall photo.

“This pain in the ass is Rockstar.”

The horse snorted at the sound of his name.

“An’ she’s mine.”

OK, the horse wasn’t a he.  “Doesn’t look like she missed you much,” I observed as the mare munched through the hay at a relentless pace.

“We have a tough love.”

“Are you telling me I’ve been doing it wrong?” I asked in response to the clear affection on his face.

He laughed softly.  “Somethin’ tells me it’ll take more ‘n a carrot to get you to stop givin’ me the cold shoulder.”

“Depends on the carrot.”

He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his bark of laughter.  “I can’t flirt with you here; I’m gonna scare the horses an’ I do __not__ wanna start the day by replacin’ kicked-out boards.”

“Well, come on, then.  Breakfast is ready.”

Duo gave Helen a kiss on the cheek and thanked her for the coffee.  I sat down to a plate of scrambled eggs, hashed browns, stewed tomatoes, and sausage.  There was plain yogurt and freezer jam.  Buttered toast upon request.  Daniel had already cleaned his plate and was listening to the news on the radio.

The weather report predicted an ice storm tomorrow: Thanksgiving Day.

“Trowa,” Daniel said, “you’d better get goin’ if you’re goin’.”

“He’s stayin’,” Duo answered for me.  “I’m takin’ him out to gimme a hand with the shelters.”

This was news to me.

Daniel looked my way.

I said, “It’s the least I can do to repay your hospitality.”

He reached for his coffee cup.  “Appreciate it,” he mumbled before taking a deep gulp.  “Duo.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Take the truck.  There’s lumber along the wall in the barn.”  With that, Daniel Maxwell excused himself, thanking Helen for breakfast.  The front door closed behind him.

“Let me pack you a lunch, darlin’s,” Helen insisted and when Duo didn’t argue, I knew it was going to be a long, hard day.

I was right.

We replaced rotting boards and nailed down loose sections of plywood and shingles on the three cattle shelters that were nestled in small valleys and spaced across the hills.  Around mid-morning, Daniel brought out the tractor, hauling a flatbed wagon of hay bales.  The cattle ambled along in his wake, following the food.

We helped him unload the bales into the long, metal feeders and then he was returning to the barn for another load.  He somehow timed it so that he arrived with more hay bales when Duo and I were working on the second shelter.

We finished up at the last one and Daniel Maxwell was driving the tractor back to the barn in the distance just as the sun kissed the horizon.  My face was numb and my skin chilled, but my body was still warm from the exertion of tossing bales.  Whipping off his hat and scrubbing his forehead with the back of one gloved hand, Duo sidled up next to me against the side of the truck which was blocking the wind.

His elbow bumped mine and he grinned.  “See?  Told you we’d catch a sunset.”

I was falling-down-dead tired, but I smiled with genuine pleasure.

Duo put his arm around my waist and I tilted my head against his.

We watched the sun set.

Then Duo drove us back.  We emptied the truck bed and we got washed up for supper.

“You still remember how ranching works,” Solo observed over the meatloaf.  “I’m impressed.”

Duo helped himself to the mashed potatoes.  “Well, it doesn’ take much to impress the easily entertained.”

“You’d know.”

“You’d care.”

“Boys.”

At Daniel’s command, they both shut up.  Tonight, Duo didn’t push the issue.  His reasoning became clear after we were done eating when he said to me, “You should bring your stuff over.  You won’ wanna be headin’ outside when that storm hits.”

If my camper had been only a couple of degrees above freezing last night, it would be arctic once the snow and ice started.  The only times I’d ever set foot in the rodeo’s VIP lounge had been when the half dozen of us who lived out of campers or trailers year-round would hunker down to wait out a winter storm.

“Where am I staying?”

Duo showed me the room across from his on the second floor.  It was crammed with antique furniture.  “This was Solo’s room,” he explained.  “All this used to be downstairs in the parlor.”

But now that room belonged to his brother and Hilde.  Of course.  With his legs in those braces, Solo couldn’t go up and down stairs every day.  I hadn’t even seen him navigate the porch steps.

I eyed the straight-backed chairs and hand-carved sofa with misgivings.

Duo said, “I’ll go get the cot outta the tack room and a camp roll.  But you’re welcome to my room.  The bed’s better.”

I was only interested in sleeping in his room if he was in there with me.  But I didn’t see how that was going to happen in this house.  So I went to my camper and packed a bag.  Duo brought in the cot and a sleeping bag.

I was so exhausted I could barely see straight at this point.  Muscle groups that had never been used for hours upon hours of brute force were screaming at me.  I was no stranger to tossing hay bales or patching buildings, but the available manpower at the rodeo made it possible to take frequent breaks.  Not so here.

Duo nudged me into the second-floor bathroom and made sure I had everything I needed for a long, hot shower.

I’d just gone back to the spare room when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

It was Duo.  His hair was down and still damp; he’d used the shower on the first floor.  He was dressed in an old sweater and a pair of sweatpants.  In his hands he held a pair of liquor glasses with something encouragingly whiskey-colored swirling within.

“Brought you somethin’ to help you sleep,” he said and I gestured him over to the cot, where I was sitting.

He left the door open, which was disappointing, and he settled himself on the ottoman across from me.  I caressed his fingers as I took the glass.  We clinked a wordless toast.  I could hear someone coming up the creaky, wooden stairs.  A moment later, Daniel Maxwell paused outside the door.

“Good work today, Trowa.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He nodded at Duo, who nodded back, and then he continued on to his room.

Here was yet another thing that Duo wasn’t thanked for.  I glared into my drink, listening to the sound of a door closing at the end of the hall.

“Hey.  ’s not gonna do it’s job if you don’ drink it.”

“You weren’t kidding about the Maxwell duty,” I muttered.

“Nope.  I surely wasn’.”

“Is this what you want out of life?”

He shrugged.  In a hushed tone, he confessed, “I don’ really know any different.”  He swirled the liquor in his glass.  “We’re squared up with the bank, an’ I’ve got a little left.  I have some ideas — how to use it to maybe turn things around an’ start bringin’ in a profit, but Granddaddy won’ like it.”

“It’s your money,” I pointed out.  “Do what you want with it.”  He could grill hot dogs over the charred bits of paper if it made him happy.  I reminded him, “And you’re a Maxwell, so this is your land, too.  It’s your future on the line.  If you want this place, then do what you think you have to to keep it.”

I took a drink and, when I lowered my glass, Duo was staring at me.

“What?”

“You are the bravest man I know.”

The idea was laughable.

“No, no,” he argued as I wheezed with mirth.  “You went up against bulls for the sake of the stupid, thrill-seekin’ idiots who rode ‘em.  You got between me an’ Shinigami when you knew he was out for blood— _both_  times.  You left your people an’ drove over a thousand miles just for—for me.  You drove another seventeen hundred miles to bring me home even knowing it wasn’ gonna be easy.  You put in a ten-hour day of back-breakin’ work today because otherwise I’da had to do it all alone.  You __are__  the bravest man I know.”

I looked into his wide, blue eyes and whispered, “Just about everything on that list happened after I met you.”

He grinned.  “Well, I wouldn’ rightly know about the awesome shit you did before I came along.”

“Damn it.  Duo.  That wasn’t bravery.”

“That’s what it sure looks like to me.”  He kept his gaze on mine as he licked the lip of his glass and then tilted the whiskey up for a delicate swallow.

I was this close to hauling him downstairs and outside to my camper.

“I know that look,” he breathed.

“This,” I informed him, “is the reason for everything I’ve done since I met you.”   

“That proves my point.”  He took another drink.  “You went after what you wanted.  Not many people are brave enough to do that.  Including me.”

“Duo—”

“Are you gonna drink that ‘r not?”

“There’s no arguing with you,” I complained.

“Oh, sure there is.”  He dimpled.  “You just won’ win.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m being intentionally vague on how large the Maxwell ranch operation is mostly because I want to keep the focus on the family without getting into how many employees they have. At this time (late November), the only people on the farm are Maxwells (plus Trowa, the honorary Maxwell).


	15. Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “This Feeling” by Julie Gribble
> 
> WARNINGS: Discussion of past mental illness and suicide, more talk of being born out of wedlock, very past 2+R (I never thought I'd write that, but there it is)

 

There was a note on the floorboards just inside my door the next morning.  I picked it up and read Duo’s slanted penmanship:

> _Went out to the barn.  Be back by noon._

I dressed in my warmest clothes and went downstairs.  Everyone had clearly been up for hours, hard at work in the kitchen.  Solo was seated at the small kitchen table brushing some sort of glaze onto a still pale but steaming, stuffed turkey.  Hilde was mixing up something that looked like it was going to end up in a pie.  Helen was twisting balls of dough and tucking them into a pan, making dinner rolls.

I cleared my throat.  “Good morning.”

“Morning!” Hilde enthused brightly.

“Help yourself to some coffee, Trowa,” Helen invited.

“I thought I might take some out to the barn,” I dared.  I’d only be in the way in the kitchen and, despite my sore muscles, watching TV from the sofa held no appeal.

Hilde looked impressed by my self-appointed mission.  “It’s really coming down out there.  Daniel and Duo should be done with the horses soon.”

“Is there a thermos?”

Solo leaned back and eyed me.  I stared him down.  Solo wiped his hands off and pushed himself up from the table.  “If you’re dead set on goin’ outside, you’ll need some gear.”

He showed me to the deep closet off of the entryway.  “This one,” he said, tugging on the sleeve of a dun-colored, water-resistant, insulated Carhartt coat and matching bibbed trousers.  “Should fit you.  Hang your jacket up here.  It won’ do shit for you in the storm.”

I dutifully shrugged out of it and hung it up, then pulled on the lined trousers over my jeans.  The legs were a little short, but it wouldn’t matter once I had my boots on.  The coat was also a little short in the sleeves.  It zipped up over my chest all right.  “Is this yours?” I asked Solo.

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

“I’m still waitin’ on an answer to my question.”

“Which one is that?”

“You the fella he took that bull down for?”

“Yes, I’m the useless wonder he saved from being trampled.”

Solo’s sharp gaze scanned my face, dissecting my expression.  “I saw the look on his face.  Before you were knocked out, when the bull was comin’ for you.”

I’d seen it, too, on the video tape.

“You be careful,” Solo told me, a threat in his voice.  “You be real careful with him.”

I nodded.

He scooted back and let me emerge from the closet.  Hilde was waiting by the door with a pair of thermoses.  I put my boots and gloves on.  Pulled the coat hood up over my head.

“There’s a wire strung up on the left-side post,” Solo told me.  “Hold onto it and it’ll lead you right over to the barn.”

“Got it.”  I took the thermoses from Hilde and tucked them under my right arm.

I opened the door and squinted against the swirling snow and sleet.  The moment the door shut behind me, I had the feeling that the three of them would be talking about me.  And Duo.  Again, I wondered just how much damage I was doing by staying here.

But I’d promised Duo that I wouldn’t leave.  Together, I’d said, and I meant it.

I trudged across the slick drive, surrounded by cold, swirling, white misery and clutching the wire that had been strung up.  Perhaps by Daniel Maxwell the day before in anticipation of the storm.  I came upon the barn door suddenly, startling when the white cross boards appeared less than two feet in front of me.

I fumbled for the handle and then I was in another world: warm and bright and silent.  I stomped the snow from my boots and headed for the main aisle.  There was a wheelbarrow next to Rockstar’s open stall door.  I could hear movement down by the horses.

“I brought coffee,” I said aloud.

Daniel Maxwell stepped out of an open doorway across from the tack room.  “I’m headin’ back.  This here’s the feed for the horses.”  He gestured me over and pointed to each of four plastic tubs in turn: “Rockstar.  Rascal.  Custer.  Maxman.”

I repeated dutifully, noting that different ratios of grains appeared to be mixed in each.  There was powder of some type dusted on Custer’s.

Daniel nodded in satisfaction and let himself out of the barn, closing the door behind him.

“Duo?” I called.  “You ready for coffee?”

“Gettin’ there.”  He emerged from the open stall with Rockstar on a lead rope.  I came closer as he clipped each side of her halter to ropes anchored to either side of the aisle.  She nipped at the pockets of his Carhartt coat, clearly seeking a treat.  Duo scratched at her forehead and around her ears.  Her lower lip sagged and a string of drool escaped.

“Yeah, you missed me.  Don’ even pretend otherwise,” he murmured.

The mare heaved a contented sigh.

“What can I do?” I offered, setting the thermoses down.  Looking toward the wheelbarrow, I asked, “You finished mucking out?”

“Nope,” he said in that same soft tone.  “Not yet.”

“I can do that.”

“Trowa, you don’ have to—”

“Deal with your horse, Duo.”

He did.  He spoke and hummed and sang softly as he curried her coat, raising dust from her back, sides, and belly.  Her neck and legs, mane and tail.  He gave her the full spa treatment shy of actually using soap and water.

Her stall was easily cleaned; she had a spot for doing her business and once that was dug out and the remaining straw redistributed, it was a simple matter of adding a fresh layer from the bales next to the barn doors.  I was finished before Duo was done with Rockstar.

“Been a while, hasn’ it?” he asked her.  She chuffed and cocked her rear left leg.  Her eyelids drooped as Duo massaged her coat with his bare hands, working some kind of lotion into her hide until she shone like a show horse.

Duo was her humble servant for a good forty minutes before he led her back to her clean stall.  She nickered and the other horses joined in.

“Feeding time,” Duo translated with a grin.  I showed him the feed tubs and helped him haul fresh buckets of water.  Duo stopped me before I opened Maxman’s door.

“Let me.  He’s An-Heli’s stallion an’ he likes to nibble.”  As soon as Duo opened the stall door, the bay stallion was right there, teeth chomping at the air.  Duo tapped the metal snap of a lead shank against the horse’s teeth and the stallion gave ground with a head-bob.  Duo put the bucket inside the door and tied the handle to the D-ring set into the wall.

Watching Maxman, I wondered about Rascal’s and Custer’s quirks.

We retreated to the tack room and washed our hands, finally ready to drink our coffee.  I mimicked Duo’s slouch in the camping chair and curled one leg around his.  His smile was sad as his eyes flickered with heat.  He stretched out his other leg between mine.

It was quiet and just the two of us.  Unfortunately, it was too risky for me to peel off his layers and tongue his navel, and we both knew that one innocent kiss would inevitably lead to more, but I wouldn’t have a better chance to ask him more questions.

I chose one that I’d been mulling over since San Antonio.

“You said you didn’t sign up with Howard just for the money.”

He looked down into his coffee.  “Yeah.  I’ve been thinkin’ about how to explain this one.  It’s tied up with a lotta shit.”

He looked up and said, “Maxwell is my momma’s maiden name.  Our daddy was a Dermail.  They got a market in town.”

I remembered, nodding even as I braced myself in the wake of the past tense Duo had used.

He explained, “Our daddy died — in Vietnam — before we were born.  He an’ our momma were gonna get married after he got back, but…”  When he glanced at me, I easily admitted to my own unblessed pedigree.

Yes, I also had the dubious honor of being born a bastard, but it had never seemed like a big deal at the circus or the rodeo.  My uncle and my mother had different fathers from two of my grandmother’s numerous, brief marriages.  Aurora Messier, my grandmother -- she was a wild one: a trick rider in her youth who now coached the circus’ next generation of death-defying equestrians.

Duo smiled when I told him this.  “Yeah, I figured that folks had to have a different take on it outside of this damn fishbowl.”

I could imagine that the devil-may-care attitude toward marriage that I’d thought of as normal for most of my childhood had been, and likely still was, nonexistent here.  Duo’s own childhood could not have been easy in this small, conservative, rural community.  But, somehow, I knew that what he had yet to say would weigh even heavier on him than being born out of wedlock had.  

Drawing a deep breath, Duo told me, “Then our momma left when Solo an’ I were about three.  We were told that she was real sick for a long time before she died.  An’ when you’re real little, you can’t really understand much more ‘n that.  But as I got older, I started askin’ harder questions.  I guess I was about thirteen ‘r so when An-Heli told me that my momma’d got sick in the head before she killed herself.”

“Duo—” I began, horrified that I’d brought all this to the surface.

“No, no.  ‘s all right.  I’ve been meanin’ to tell you.”  He turned his attention to the thermos cap in his grasp.  “See, when Solo an’ I found out about all this, it changed us.  Before that, I guess you could say we were twins.  But findin’ out somethin’ like that, well, Solo did everything he could think o’ to prove he was a true Maxwell man.”

Duo looked up at me.  “Me an’ Solo, we went our separate ways.”  He reminded me, “My brother followed in our granddaddy’s footsteps right into the Marine recruiter’s office.  Me, on the other hand, I grew my hair out, went to college, even did a stint with some farmers in Illinois who raise exotic animals.”

Before I could wonder how similar that might have been to working at a circus, Duo bulldozed onward, “An’ our granddaddy made it clear which one o’ us had made choices he approved of.”

His brows lifted with a lost look and then fell into a frown; I could feel his exasperation and helplessness.  “My granddaddy is real quiet — never been talkative much — but…”  Duo paused to search for words.

I shared an observation of my own, “He hates the way I wear my hair.”

Duo let out a humorless cough of laughter.  “Yeah.  Just like that.  He doesn’ say a word, but you know what he’s thinkin’.”

“And it’s somehow worse than if he’d just come out and say it.”

Duo nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to convince me of the power that the man wielded.  “Well, like I told you before, for long time, I tried to match Solo.  In ninth grade, he asked a girl out for the first time and I—”  He sighed.  “I asked my best friend to go steady.  Her name’s Relena an’ her daddy’s been involved with runnin’ our town in one way ‘r ‘nother for pret’near thirty years now.”

Duo stopped for a moment and chuckled at a memory, which he promptly shared: “I remember goin’ up to her—first day o’ kindergarten—an’ sayin’, ‘Hi.  I’m Duo an’ you’re a girl.  I never played with a girl before.  How y’all do it?’”

I smiled, imagining it.

“So she and I went out all through high school.  Lookin’ back on it, I think it was as much for her as it was for me; I didn’ treat her like a princess an’ my granddaddy was glad that I had a gal and I… I felt normal for doin’ normal teenager stuff.”  He turned the thermos cap around in his hands.

“In high school, Solo asked a different girl out every week.  I dated just one, but it never went beyond… well, never far enough to risk gettin’ her pregnant.  ‘Cuz what if whatever had been wrong with my momma was wrong with me, too?  Or would be, someday.  An’ I’d be damned if I left behind a kid to be raised by somebody else.”

A thrill of fear spiraled through me as I imagined a version of events where Duo Maxwell would have walked up to me at Bloom’s Rodeo and shaken my hand… as a father with small children and a wife.  Oh, God.

His gaze dropped to his empty thermos cup.  “My momma’s illness was like a… a shadow.  Always right there behind me.  Waitin’.  An’ there wasn’ a damn thing I could do to fight it.  The one time I felt free of it — the only time I wasn’ lookin’ over my shoulder waitin’ for the ax to fall — was when I was bull ridin’.  I don’ know why, but for those eight seconds, it couldn’ touch me.”

I studied his face, my chest tight.  I wanted to ask what his mother’s illness had been, but I didn’t.  Duo would tell me when he was ready.

“So when I signed the contract with Howard, it wasn’ just for the money.  It was for the chance to put some distance between me an’ that damn fear.  ‘til I could face it down.  An’ prove to myself that I was strong enough to be whoever I’m gonna be, come what may.”

“You did that,” I told him.  At his wide-eyed look, I gave him proof of it, “I saw it.  When you finished your ride on Heavyarms.  After that, you were…”  I didn’t have to search for the words — I still remembered my thoughts at that moment exactly — but I took a moment to imagine how they’d sound if spoken aloud.  Once I was sure of my choices, I described him: “Renewed.  Breath-taking.”

He gasped softly.

“Is that why you quit?” I ventured.

He nodded.  “I’m not afraid anymore.”

I set aside my half-empty thermos of coffee and stood, held out my hands to him.  He set the thermos cap down and then his palms were sliding against mine.  I pulled him up and into my arms.  He breathed deeply and held on tight.  Like I was holding on.

I petted his braid, aching to keep him safe and whole.  Terrified that I might lose him to whatever had taken his mother.

“Duo, love,” I breathed.  “Together, remember?”

He nodded against my shoulder.  His fingers curled, digging into the tight weave of my borrowed coat.  “What happened to my momma… that’s not gonna happen to me,” Duo murmured.  “I promise.”

Could he make a promise like that?  Was it even possible?

He drew another deep breath, but then we heard the sound of the barn door opening.  Duo pulled back and, reluctantly, I let him go.

“Duo?  Trowa?”

It was Hilde.

“We’re in the tack room!” Duo called back and then leaned down to scoop up his thermos.  I collected mine just as she looked in on us.

“We were getting worried that you two got lost in the storm.”

Duo chuckled.  “Naw.  It jus’ took a whole lotta TLC to get Rockstar to look me in the eye again.”

Hilde grinned.  “That’s why I stick to geldings.  Give ‘em half an apple and all’s forgiven.”  She looked from me to Duo and said, “If you’re going to be a while longer, we’ll put off dinner.”

“Naw, don’ do that,” Duo protested.

“We’ll be right behind you,” I added.

She hesitated.  “Look, I don’t know how to say this and, anyway, it’s not my place, but… I’ve been working on getting Solo to be more open-minded.”

I blinked.

Duo sputtered.  “You—what now?”

She bit her lip.  “I don’t know about Helen or Daniel, but I think you should talk to Solo,” she said to Duo.  “He’s still upset about… things and it’s probably time you two had a talk about the accident.”

Duo closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.  “Hilde…”

“He told me what led up to it and… well, he still doesn’t understand why you left the way you did.  Though—”  At this point, she glanced my way.  “He might be starting to figure it out.”

“Shit,” Duo swore.

“Not today,” Hilde said, obviously still speaking of the discussion Duo and Solo needed to have, “but soon?  Please, Duo.  If he’s got the wrong idea…”

Duo rubbed his hands over his face.  “I hear you, Hilde.  Thanks.  I’ll talk to him.”

“If you want me and Trowa to be there to, uh, referee…?” she offered.

He dropped his hands.  “Yeah, that might be a good idea.  We’ll see.”

She left.  The barn door opened and shut behind her.

Duo looked at me and I pulled him close again.  It was hard to believe that there was more that hadn’t yet come to light, but I was not going to make him face it alone.  Not unless he honestly wanted to.

When we got back to the house and shook the snow off of us, I bothered Helen for a moment to ask if I could use the phone to call Wyoming.  Seeing as how the kitchen resembled a war zone, Duo advised against using the phone in there.

“Come down to the office,” he said, gesturing me along the first floor hall to the last door on the left.  It was small and cramped and Duo sighed when he shoved the door open.

“Damn it.  I had all this pret’near organized before I left.”

Ledgers now sat crooked on the shelves with bits of paper — receipts and whatnot — shoved into the spaces between the volumes.  The desk chair was free of debris, but Duo had to dig the black, rotary phone out from under a pile of opened bills.

“You like cranberry sauce on your bird?” he asked and I said I did and I knew he was going to fix my plate for me while I made my call.

He pulled the door nearly shut behind him.  I was smiling as I dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.  It’s me.”

“Trowa!  Sweetheart!  I called the rodeo on Tuesday asking about you but they said you’d left.”

I told her where I was: Duo Maxwell’s ranch in Montana.

“Duo Maxwell…” she mused.  “How do I know that name?”

A man’s voice in the background — her husband — answered the question before I could.

“Oh!  Did you meet at the rodeo?” she asked me.

“Yes.  And—”

“Now you’re spending Thanksgiving with his family.”  It was clear that she was assuming a lot just from that fact.  Her voice quieted for her next question, “Are the two of you being safe?”

“Of course!” I coughed out… and then lowered my head to my hand.  Damn it.  I should have said he was just a friend because—

“I need to meet him.  You bring him over when you can.”

“Mom—”

“Is he treating you right?  Those bull riders can be so showy and—”

“Mom.  Stop.  He’s amazing.  I’ll call when we know our plans.”

“You do that, sweetheart.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” I wished her and then I hung up.  I slumped forward in the desk chair and groaned as quietly as I could manage.

“Damn it all, Solo!” Duo’s exasperated voice rang out.  “That stuffing isn’ made o’ gold.  Stop hoggin’ it an’ pass it down already.”

“Says the fella with two plates.”

“One o’ which is gonna get smashed into your face if I have to ask you again!”

“That’s funny—I didn’ hear you ask the first time.”

“That’s because your head’s been stuck in the business end of a turkey all day.  Now give it!”

Oh, God.  I’d better get out there and help Hilde and Helen run interference.

I hauled myself out of the chair and navigated through the stacks of manila files toward the door.  I opened it and reared back at the sight of Helen’s visible startle.  She pressed a hand to her chest and gave me a weak smile.

“Trowa.  I came to ask if you wanted a beer.”

“No, thank you.  Water’s fine.”

She nodded and gave me a long, hard look.  Like she was expecting to see something different about me.  I endured it, wondering just how long she’d been standing there.  I replayed my comments to my mother—

_He’s amazing.  I’ll call when we know our plans._

Fuck me.  Helen was clearly waiting for me to offer up an alternate interpretation for what she’d overheard, but I couldn’t get my jaw unglued.  And even if I could, I had nothing to say by way of explanation.  It was exactly what it’d sounded like: a boyfriend praising his partner and then speaking of the two of them as a unit.

God damn it.

“Thank you for letting me use the phone.”  I amazed myself with how calm my voice sounded.  “I’ll pay for—”

“Don’t be silly,” Helen interrupted, snapping out of her shock and motioning me toward the dining room.  “After how hard Daniel and Duo worked you yesterday, it is the absolute least we can do.”

We joined the table and I found a heaping plate waiting for me.  Solo’s gaze flickered from me to the second plate that Duo had prepared and I could see him working it out.  Just like Helen was working it out.  And Hilde already had.

Under the table and out of view, Duo’s hand brushed along the top of my thigh.  Brief and warm and steadying.  There was no reason for me to panic if Duo wasn’t.

It became the mantra that got me through the rest of the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solo and Duo were born in 1967. (This allows for Duo to definitely be old enough to legally buy and drink alcoholic beverages in 1990 when the legal drinking age was between 18 and 21 (but mostly 21) depending on the state.) From 1966 through 1970, the United States of America sent well over a quarter of a million troops to Vietnam each year. Most of these young men were drafted to go (so they would have had to choose between reporting for duty or fleeing the country). For those of you not familiar with this part of history, the casualties were high. America withdrew from Vietnam in 1973.
> 
> The powder dusted on Custer’s feed grain is medicine (like for thyroid health).
> 
> Maxman is based on a frisky stallion at a horse riding stables where I used to work once upon a time.
> 
> I’ve never had a horse of my own to give “the full spa treatment” to, but I’m pretty sure you can spend hours and hours on washing, conditioning, and treating mane, tail, and coat. Also, there’s the hooves and teeth to look after (which Trowa doesn’t see because that happens while he’s mucking out the stall). 
> 
> Straw is pretty common bedding in the U.S., but where I worked, we used wood chips instead. The price of each depends on where you are. In Montana, I think straw would be cheaper due to the amount of protected woodlands in the area (Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks, to give two examples).
> 
> Feeding for horses tends to be hay and grain twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening, with the horses spending the daylight hours outside in a paddock, but as there’s a big storm in this chapter, none of the horses are going outside, so Duo stretches out their feed schedule to help with boredom a bit.
> 
> In my experience, geldings are far more tolerant than mares. Generally speaking. Mares and I butt heads a lot. Maybe it's just me.
> 
> I used the Dermail family for Duo’s father because, frankly, the other names in the Gundam Wing universe didn’t sound like they’d be likely to be found in a rural farming community in the American West. Duke Dermail is NOT Solo and Duo’s father (unless you like the idea); I think of him as their great uncle or something.
> 
> Yes, we’ll get more on Duo’s mother. There is MORE.
> 
> And, Hilde. Being Hilde. And by that, I mean, AWESOME. 
> 
> Also, Trowa has a mom! Isn’t she the sneakiest, cutest Trowa’s-mom EVER? (Also, maybe she'd heard about what went down at Bloom’s when Trowa was nineteen? We don’t really know either way.)
> 
> Tell me you how much you liked Solo getting in Trowa’s face about being good to Duo. TELL ME.


	16. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “84,000 Different Delusions” by Shawn Colvin
> 
> WARNINGS: mention of suicide and attempted suicide (including the method thereof)

Hilde was a good driver.  Plus, the Jeep had been made for crawling through potholes and ice-crusted snow.  I was happy with my position in the back seat behind her, turned sideways so I could stretch my legs out.  Duo was riding shotgun, asking Hilde about her work as a physical therapist at the clinic in town.

“’s that how you an’ Solo met?”

“Sort of.  He wasn’t my patient, but I was working while he was there.”  She glanced toward Duo.  “You know that the doctors said—”

“He’d never walk again,” Duo murmured, glancing away.  “Yeah.  I remember.”

She was quiet for a moment before volunteering, “I’ve never seen so much bull-headed courage in one person.”

Silence seeped into the Jeep, heavy and thick, until I remarked, “I’m more of a dimple man, myself.”

Duo threw back his head and laughed, turning to look at me over his shoulder and show off that damn dimple.  Hilde giggled.

Duo asked Hilde about her hometown of Helena and the smoothness of the ride was only interrupted by the occasional pothole.  She pulled over in front of an art gallery on main street and said, “I’ll pick you both up here at a little past six o’clock?”

“Sounds great.  Thanks, sis,” Duo said.

“Thank you,” I echoed and scooted out from behind the passenger seat that Duo was holding forward for me.

“Have fun!” she said and continued on to the clinic and the half-day of work she’d been scheduled for.

Duo drew in a deep breath and exhaled a plume of icy mist.  “Can I buy you a cup o’ coffee?” he asked.

I sent a dubious look at the organic cafe.

Duo chuckled.  “Naw, not that one.  C’mon.”

We walked to the traffic light and took a left.  One block down, a rundown diner was advertising a “cowboy breakfast special” and a “famous BBQ omelet.”  Duo held the door open and showily gestured me through.

I paused just inside the restaurant to wait for him.

The past-middle-age waitress bustled by with a laden tray.  “Seat yourselves.  Be right with you.”

Duo stopped next to me, searching the interior for a good seat.

“My goodness.  Duo?”

We both swiveled toward the sound of a woman’s voice and watched as a pretty girl with straight, light brown hair stood up from a booth midway down.

“Holy—!  Relena!” he crowed.

She stepped into the aisle and Duo took two long strides in her direction.  She lifted her arms to his shoulders and he wrapped his around her waist, lifting her off her feet for a hug.

It was as brief as it was enthusiastic.

Duo set her back down and took a step back.

She smacked him on the arm.

He sputtered.  “What was that for?”

“There’s a long list.”

Duo stuck his hands in his pockets and ducked his head.  “Yeah, I reckon there is.  It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too.”  She looked past Duo’s shoulder to me.  “Would you and your friend like to join us?”

Duo glanced back at me and I took this as my cue to join the gathering.  Duo mumbled, “Uh, well, we don’ wanna interrupt any more ‘n we –  _I_ – already have.”

“Shush,” Relena told him.  “This is Quatre Winner.  My fiancé.”

A blond man with sky-blue eyes and a sweet disposition stood up to shake Duo’s hand.  “Relena’s told me a lot about you.  It’s great to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Duo assured him and then laid that very same hand on my shoulder.  “This is Trowa Barton.  I’m givin’ him the ten-cent tour of Bozeman today.”

My skin was burning beneath the weight of Duo’s touch and my mind was numb with shock at the public display.  On autopilot, I shook hands with Relena and Quatre.

Relena remarked, “Well, you’re off to a good start.”

“This is the only place to start!” Duo enthused, his hand slipping from my shoulder.  He continued, “But…”  Duo, like me, was taking in their quality clothing.  “What are you two doin’ in here?”

Quatre confessed, “Relena promised that this place has the best pie and the worst coffee in town.  How could I turn that down?”

Duo grinned.  Then he turned to Relena and apologized, “Sorry I haven’ kept in touch.  I just got back from, uh, workin’—”

“Bull-riding,” she finished for him.  “And I ought to sock you in the schnoz for having to hear that from Marianne Dermail instead of you.”

“It’s pretty cold out,” Duo retorted.  “My schnoz could do with a sock.”

I bit back a chuckle.  Relena rolled her eyes.  “Please tell me you’re done with all that.”

He held up his hands in surrender.  “’s not on the calendar for next year.”

“Thank God.”

“Won’t you join us?” Quatre invited.

“Love to,” Duo spoke for both of us, “but maybe next time?  Before y’all head out?”

“Count on it,” Relena said and hugged him again.

Then Duo was stepping away and, with a hand on my lower back, he nudged me deeper into the restaurant to a quiet booth.  I, meanwhile, was marveling at the undeniably intimate gesture; the small of my back was simmering from just the slight pressure of his hand.

As soon as we sat, the waitress brought Relena and Quatre’s orders over to them and I was glad Duo and I weren’t intruding on them.

“She’s nice,” I blurted rather than ask Duo if his college education had somehow neglected to include the meaning of “subtle.”

Duo’s hand stopped short as he reached over to pluck up the tattered menu.  “Y’know, she really is.  Gonna change the world one day.”

I studied his proud, happy smile and told him, “I won’t.”

He looked at me, his expression moving from genuine enthusiasm to heart-felt longing.  “I dunno about that.  You’ve changed mine plenty, sunshine.”

Then he smiled, slow and sweet.  His heart on his sleeve, cradled in his hands, reflected in his eyes.

That look.  God help me.

The waitress came over and Duo ordered coffees for both of us plus a slice of apple pie and a slice of coconut cream.  As soon as we were alone again, Duo returned to the topic I’d raised: “I looked down that road — me an’ her.  The week before graduation, Granddaddy asked me if I needed a ring.”

I froze.

Duo’s boots bumped against mine under the table.  “She was goin’ off to Harvard with big dreams.  Gonna make the world a better place.  There was no force on this green Earth that was gonna make me try an’ stop her.  She’s been my best friend my whole life.  I only wanted the best for her.  Maybe that’s why she was with me for so long; she knew I wasn’ gonna try an’ hold her back.”

I let myself breathe again.

Duo looked up at me through his brows and grinned; it was wicked and brimming with naughty promises.  “I’d tell you not to be jealous, but it’s really turnin’ me on.”

I blew out a breath through my nose.  My jaw clenched.

“It is killin’ me not to touch you,” he confessed even more quietly, rubbing the toes of his boots against mine.

I dared him, “Then come on the road with me.”

“I want to.”

_I want **you.**_

His hayloft confession shimmered in the air between us.

I said, “But you need to talk to Solo first.”

He nodded.

I added, “And maybe Helen.”

He quirked a brow at me and I told him about the phone call she’d overheard on Thanksgiving Day.

“Don’t worry about An-Heli,” he replied.  “My granddaddy’s word is law in that house.  So long as he doesn’ have to deal with it, she won’ take his side.”

“I’m sorry.  I wish I could make this easier.”

“Trowa,” he breathed and my lashes fluttered.  Heat flashed down the back of my neck.  I would never get tired of hearing him say my name.  “You have no idea what you’ve done for me.  What you do for me every damn day.  You—”

What he would have said, I didn’t know.  The waitress chose that moment to swoop in and deliver our orders, breaking the moment.

I hoped we’d recapture it at some other part in the day, but I hoped in vain.  Duo took me around to all the stores that were run by local people, still surviving the onslaught of moneyed glamorites, and introduced me: a new face in town who had the Maxwell seal of approval.  We replenished the non-perishables in the camper, but when I eyed the small drug store, Duo vetoed the idea.

“Billings would be better,” he told me and I had to agree.  I might be able to explain a condom purchase in a town this size, but personal lubricant?  That would be far more memorable.  At least it wasn’t an urgent situation.  Otherwise I would have considered recruiting Hilde to help out.

“Do you want me to be there when you talk to Solo?”

He didn’t seem surprised by the question.  “’course, I do.  I mean, we’ve come this far an’ here you are.  Still.  So, this is—I mean—”  He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts.  “I don’ have any secrets from you.”  He stopped walking and looked up into my eyes, waiting.

“No secrets,” I promised.

Hilde picked us up on time.  We returned to the house for dinner.  As an additional six inches of snow was expected to fall overnight, I slept in the spare room again.  I hated it, but Duo was right.  So long as we didn’t force Daniel Maxwell to face it, he wouldn’t turn us away.  At least, not before Duo was ready to leave.  If that was what he wanted.

But I was starting to think that Duo had taken my advice to heart: he was building towards a fight to keep his stake in the Maxwell legacy.  Why else would he spend Sunday morning organizing the office, filing receipts and bills for the upcoming tax season?

I pretended to read a book while he worked.  I was constantly distracted by the way his forehead would wrinkle as he tried to make out a scrawl of handwriting and then there was the angle of his strong shoulders when he twisted toward the desk lamp to read a too-light pencil mark on the paper held in his callused hands.  God, but I missed his hands.  It hadn’t even been a week, but I was burning to make love to him.

A soft knock against the door pulled me from my fantasy.  I looked up and there was Solo leaning on both canes, an obstinate expression on his face.  He nodded at me in surly greeting and then turned his attention to Duo.

“Déjà vu,” he said.

Duo stiffened.  A beat of silence throbbed in the room.  Then Duo remarked, “Are you drunk off your ass this time, too?”

“No.”  Solo invited himself inside, lowering himself into the seat of the second armchair that Duo had uncovered.  I was occupying the first.  Solo looked my way and said, “Either get out or stick it out.”

I knew instantly what he was saying.  Duo had hinted that what had yet to be said could only be discussed within the family.  I wasn’t sure if Daniel or Helen would ever consider me a member of the family, but that wasn’t what Solo meant.  If I stayed, I would be pledging my loyalty to not just Duo, but to Solo as well.  This generation of Maxwells.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Duo glaring at the pages in his hands, waiting for my decision, trying not to influence me.

But the decision had already been made.  So long ago and so gradually that I couldn’t say when it had happened, only that it had.

“I’m not leaving Duo,” I told Solo.  “If you don’t want me here, say so.”

A motion by the door drew my attention.  Hilde.  The four of us were the only ones home.  Daniel and Helen had gone to church and would be dropping by a friend’s house in town for lunch.  They wouldn’t be home until late afternoon.

The four of us could be the future of this place, but only if Solo and Duo could work out whatever had come between them.

Solo didn’t tell me to get out.

Duo turned the office chair around and crossed his arms over his chest.  “Trowa stays right where he is.”  He tilted his head toward the doorway.  “Make yourself at home, Hilde.”

“Have you told Trowa what happened?” she asked, leaning a hip onto the arm of her husband’s chair.

Duo shook his head.  “No.  Not yet.”

“So that’s where we start,” Solo decided.  “Fifteen months back.”

I closed the book and set it aside.

“I was home on leave,” he said.

“Drinkin’,” Duo added.

Solo continued, “An’ I came down here to offer my bookworm of a brother a cold one.  Found his ass pokin’ out from under the desk.”

“I’d found an ol’ shoe box,” Duo explained.  “I thought it was gonna be full o’ receipts an’ shit.  It was letters from our momma.”

“Beggin’ to come home.”

“To see us.”

“We read through the whole mess—”

“No,” Duo corrected him.  “You made it about halfway before you figured out what you were readin’.”

Solo shrugged, relenting.  “I made it through enough to figure out that we’d been lied to our whole lives.”

Duo gave him a sharp look.  “She was sick,” he argued, “but not for the reason that—I mean—”

Solo looked right at me and bluntly stated, “Our momma was gay.”

I sucked in a harsh breath.

Duo slumped forward, scrubbing his face with his hands.

Solo continued, “When we were three years old, granddaddy found out she was in love with—with someone.  He forbade our momma from leavin’ the house.”

“An’ she tried to kill herself,” Duo whispered.

“Granddaddy put her in a psychiatric facility.  Petitioned the court for custody of us an’ he got it.”

Through all this, my eyes were on Duo.  He’d promised me that what had destroyed his mother wouldn’t do the same to him.  Just the other day at the diner, he’d tried to tell me how I’d changed his life.  He couldn’t possibly mean that I was the difference?

Solo continued, “We never saw her again.  Even though she wrote weekly askin’ to see us.”

Duo nodded, his eyes shining wetly.  “The letters are upstairs in my closet.”

“I know,” Hilde whispered.  “I went and got them a while back.”

Solo admitted, “I wanted to read ‘em again.  All of ‘em this time.”

Duo looked at him.

“Our momma wasn’ crazy,” Solo said with conviction.

“No, she wasn’,” Duo agreed.  “But her family’d turned on her because she was gay.  That—that’s not an easy thing to live with out here.  Most folks still say it’s a kinda sickness.  Granddaddy’s generation sure did.”

“Still does,” Solo interrupted.

Duo looked at me.  “Our momma did have real problems, but I reckon that’s ‘cuz they’d twisted her up inside.  Told her she was sick when, hell, she was just our age, heartbroken, and stuck out here.  You hear the same shit often enough, you start thinkin’ it must be true.”

“So she slit her wrists open.”

Duo shook his head.  “She was driven to it — fucking pissed off an’ feelin’ helpless an’ alone an’ — was it any wonder she just wanted it to end?”

“She managed it eventually,” Solo agreed bitterly.  “Killed herself in that fucking hospital.”

Duo shoulders slumped.  “’s only a two-hour drive away.”

“We didn’ even go to the funeral.”

“We were eight years old.”

“But we’d been told that she was already dead.  For five years.”

“Gone,” Duo corrected again.  “They’d say, ‘Your momma’s gone.  She’s not comin’ back.’”

Solo sneered.  “Technically, not a lie.”

“Didn’ matter to you.”

“Still doesn’.”  Solo drew a calming breath.  “That day, I lit outta here on my motor bike.  Too drunk an’ angry to see straight.”

I assumed that was when the accident had happened.

Duo faced off with his brother, propping his elbows on his knees and looking Solo in the eyes.  “An’ now you wanna know—what?  Why I called Howard?”

“Fuck that.  I know why.  It’da been cheaper if I’d died.”

Duo’s lips quirked into a crooked smile.  “Ornery cusses like you don’ just up ‘n’ die to make life easier.”

I remembered what Hilde had said in the car: the doctors hadn’t expected Solo Maxwell to ever walk again.  That kind of damage…  The medical bills must have been enormous.  Duo’d said they’d re-mortgaged the house and some of the land.  Jesus.  Solo, the grandson that Daniel had been so proud of, had nearly made them lose all of this.  Their home and land: the Maxwell heritage.

Solo leaned forward in his chair, mirroring Duo.  “How the hell could you leave me alone here with the people who’ve lied to us our whole lives?”

Duo’s jaw dropped.

“What?” Solo demanded.  “What the hell did you think my problem was?”

“You—you—”  Somehow, Duo stopped himself from uttering the reflexive insult.  “In the hospital, first you wouldn’ talk about our momma at all.  Like, you were ashamed of her!  Then you got nasty—”  Duo’s face scrunched into a bitter scowl.  “’s all her fault for bein’ gay,’” he quoted.

“It was!  She never woulda been put in that place if she’d jus’ kept a lid on it!”

“You can’t keep a lid on it when it’s who you are!”

“What d’you want me to say?  That I never missed her?  That it makes no difference to me that I never got to know her?”

“Bein’ gay wasn’ her choice, damn you.  Bein’ locked up by her own flesh and blood and bein’ told there was somethin’ wrong with her wasn’ her choice, either!”  Duo was shaking, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair so hard his knuckles had turned white.

“I don’ blame her for _that!_  But she coulda pretended—for us—for _our_  sake—she coulda— _shoulda_ —put us first!”

“Maybe she was.”

“How the hell d’you figure she did that?”

“Jesus!  Is that the kinda example you want for your life, Solo?  So what if you can never be who you are, never go after what you want, never have anythin’ for yourself because all there is to life is duty—’s that who you wanna be?”

Solo’s frustration boiled over.  He scratched at his own scalp until his hair was sticking up in tufts.  “God!  What—!  You’re not hearin’ what I’m sayin’!”

“Then jus’ say it, damn it!”

“She left us an’ then you left me.  Without a damn word.  You left me, Duo.  Here.  To do nothin’ except watch Granddaddy an’ An-Helen do the work you an’ I shoulda been doin’.  I was stuck here, an’ I had to let you pay the bills for it an’ I had to let them take care o’ me.  After all the lies!  You jus’ up an’ left me with them!”

Duo swallowed thickly.  “Yeah.  I did do that.”

“Why?”  Solo stared at him hard, his face flushed and teeth bared.

“’Cuz you—the way you talked—you hated our momma for bein’ gay.”

Very calmly, Solo asked, “Why would that matter to you?”

Duo took a deep breath.  He looked his brother in the eye, and he did the bravest thing I’d ever seen.

He said, “Because I’m gay, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t remember whose idea it was for Duo’s mom to be gay, but that happened while Ry and I were Skyping and we discussed how hostility from an unaccepting family could lead to depression and other issues that cause serious damage to someone’s mental health. And, on reflection, the isolation of living on a ranch and the conservative thinking of a rural community would not have helped matters, either.
> 
> Also, if you decide to re-read Part 9, I think you’ll understand Duo’s reaction to the news that Trowa wouldn’t be working at the rodeo anymore. His first thought is that Trowa’s own uncle -- Trowa’s family -- turned on him and fired him. How sad is it that this is Duo’s knee-jerk reaction? But now, in this context, it should make more sense. It’ll be unpacked a bit more at the beginning of the next chapter.


	17. A New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec: “Against the Grain” by Hudson & Troop
> 
> WARNINGS: Reference to past suicide attempt
> 
> A friendly reminder: This story features ranching, which is basically the raising of livestock for human consumption. Animals will be referred to in terms of their final products (meat, hide, etc.) though not in explicit detail.

 

This hayloft was a lot colder than the one Duo had found me in.  It was freezing.  Duo hadn’t bothered with a Carhartt coat or trousers and neither had I.  I’d given him fifteen minutes as I’d gathered up the things I’d need, then I’d gone after him.

And here he was.

He was sitting cross-legged, huddling on the top layer of hay, looking out the tiny, diamond-shaped window that faced the land, the cattle, the history of his family.

I climbed up to him.  I didn’t speak.  I tucked myself up behind his shivering back and wrapped us up in the warmest blanket I owned.  I’d taken nothing from his grandfather’s house.  Not even the bottle in my hand.  There wasn’t much in it, just a few swallows, but it would help warm him up.

I held the bottle of Jack Daniels out to him.  He took it.  Tilted it against his lips, leaning his head back against my shoulder in the process.  I pulled myself closer, kissed his chilled cheek, angled my head against his.

“I love you,” I flat-out told him.  Perhaps for the first time.

“Still?” he croaked.

“How long is forever?”

He snorted.  I glimpsed the edge of a sarcastic smile.  “I don’ have enough fingers an’ toes to count that high.”

“Borrow mine.”  I reminded him, “What’s mine is yours.”

“Trowa…”

I groaned softly.  Saying my name like that and at a time like this was completely unfair.  “Don’t start something you can’t finish at ten below zero, Duo.”  I nipped his ear.

He shivered.  “’s not that cold.”

“Not in here, it’s not,” I agreed, wiggling against him within the blanket.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“All you were after was the dimple, but lookit the mess you got.”

I leaned around and kissed that distracting, charming, endearing dimple.  “So clean it up.”

“Huh?”

“Finish the talk.”

Duo’d blurted his confession and then he’d stormed out.  When Solo would have called him back, I’d held up a hand to stop him and gone after Duo myself.  Once I’d known where he was going, I’d taken my time gathering supplies.  Luckily, I had some experience with hayloft misery.

Duo bemoaned, “Finish the talk by sayin’ what?”

“What’s left to say?”

“Nothin’.”

I pressed my lips to the side of his neck.  Sucked softly.  Leaned back.  Exhaled.  My bangs feathered against his skin.

He cringed.  “Damn it, Trowa.  Your hair tickles.”

I nodded, dragging the strands of hair over the wet mark.

He twitched.

“I can do this all day,” I threatened.  My arms and legs locked around him in our blanket cocoon.

“Fuck.”

“What’s left to say?” I persisted.

This time, he sighed.  He leaned back against me, turned in my arms, and lifted his mouth for a kiss.  I gave it to him, slow and shallow.

The feel of his chilled fingers plucking at the cuff of my flannel shirt didn’t register until he shoved my sleeves, all three layers of them — thermal underwear, flannel, and sweater — up my forearm and his thumb brushed over the scar on the inside of my left elbow.  Given what he and Solo had just been discussing, I could guess that he had questions.

He pulled away.  Swallowed audibly.  “Trowa, this…?”

“Was a mistake,” I assured him.  “I thought I was alone, but I was wrong.  I wasn’t alone.  Neither are you.  I won’t leave you.”

He shivered as I held his gaze, willing the fearful shadow in his eyes away.  I covered his hand with mine, wrapping him up even tighter in the circle of my arms.

“I won’t leave you, Duo.”

He tilted his chin up and murmured against my lips, “I believe you.”

The words melted into a second kiss that was even softer than the one before.

The sound of the front door opening and then the screen door squealing drifted through the weathered boards.  The soft thump of boots and canes on the porch.  A pause and then, one by one, Solo descended the steps with aching care.

Duo leaned away and opened his eyes.  Expression somber, he checked, “You know what I gotta say to him, don’ you?”

I had a pretty good idea.  I nodded.

“Are you still gonna respect me in the morning?” he half-teased, half-pleaded.

“Every morning, afternoon, evening, night—”  He grinned.  He dimpled.  I died a little inside; it was the only way to make room for the intensity of the emotion I was feeling.  I continued, “Every tea time, coffee time, snack time, bed time, bath time, happy hour—”

Duo’s fingers pressed against my lips, traced my smile.

“You’re never not going to be a reason for this,” I told him.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“You’d damn well better.”

He kissed me, tangled his fingers in my hair and tugged on my arm until I was pressing him down on the hay bale, our mouths moving hungrily.  Hot breaths and fluttering lashes.  Eyes glittering with lust and our tongues surging—

The barn door slid open.  I pulled back and gazed down at Duo.  His braid had been loosened.  Fly-aways brushed his cheeks.  He looked like he always did after a bull ride.  A little windblown.  A little tired.  A lot gorgeous.

I let him up.  He tucked the blanket around me.  I watched him climb down the stack of hay bales toward the trap door.  I sat next to the window, watching the few remaining drops of liquor collect in the bottom-most corner of the tilted bottle.

I waited.

Solo spoke first.  “I didn’ hate our momma ‘cuz she was gay.  But I blame her for leavin’ ‘cuz—‘cuz I don’ know how to blame Granddaddy an An-Helen for throwin’ her away.  They thought they were protectin’ us an’ they were _wrong_  but… we’re family,” he concluded in a hopeless tone.

Duo sighed.  “I’m sorry.  The way I left — it was selfish an’ I was… I jus’ ran away — an’ I’m real sorry, Solo.”

I closed my eyes and smiled.  I had never been prouder of Duo.  Never.

“Don’ do it again.”

“If it doesn’ bother you that I’m gay, then I won’.”

“If I didn’ care that our own momma was gay, then why would I care that you are?”

“’Cuz it was always real important to you that Granddaddy was proud o’ you.”

“It was important to you, too.”

“Yeah, but, most o’ the time, I didn’ mind comin’ in second.”

“You ain’t second,” Solo said with firm conviction.  “You did what I couldn’t; saved this place after I fucked us over an’ no matter how ornery I get, it ain’t ‘cuz I’m mad at you.  You know that, right?  I wouldn’ a-sided with Granddaddy against you.”

Not like their Aunt Helen had apparently sided with her father against her own sister.  Surely, she had to regret that.  But it was easy to see from her example how Duo could have made the leap to thinking that his brother would turn away from him.

Solo insisted, “That never woulda happened.”

“I see that now.”

I sighed.  Smiled at the sound of a brotherly hug and back-slapping.

“So,” Solo began anew, “how long you been gay?”

“Jesus Christ,” Duo muttered.

“What?”

“You can’t just come out with a question like that!”

“Excuse the hell outta me!  I don’ know how you’re supposed to talk about this shit!”

“Obviously.”  Duo cleared his throat and answered honestly, “I don’ know how it happened.  I guess I’ve always been like this.”

“Huh.  So that Trowa fella—he didn’ turn you gay ‘r anythin’?”

Duo snorted.  “No.  That’s not how it works.”

“Just how does it work?  I mean, he doesn’ hurt you ‘r—?”

“Shut up.  Please.  Good God.  No, Trowa has never hurt me.”

“All right, then.  So.  I guess you’re gonna keep ‘im?”

“If he’ll have me.”

“You mean you two haven’ banged yet?  Or whatever you—”

“Do you honestly wanna know the answer that?”

“...no.  Not particularly.”

Duo was probably smirking right about now.  I sure was.

“But how’re we gonna keep An-Helen and Granddaddy from figurin’ it out?”

There was a long pause.

“Or… don’ you plan on stayin’ on here?”

“I don’ really know,” Duo admitted.  “But if Trowa an’ I stayed, we’d need our own place.”

“Oh, that’s not gonna be obvious.”

“Hey, we’re not gonna make out at the damn supper table.  If Granddaddy can manage not to think about it too much, then An-Heli will go with the flow.”

“Well, ’s not like he can afford to lose you.”

That was true.  Despite Duo’s heroic return, money was still tight.  Ranching beef cattle never made anyone rich.  Not these days.  It’d be impossible to take on extra hands without an income to pay their salaries out of.

Duo said, “I gotta talk to Trowa.”

“Fair enough.”

“An’… on nights when it’s not below zero an’ blizzardin’, you might pick a fight that ends with me bein’ kicked outta the house.”

Solo snorted.  “Like that’s not gonna happen regardless.”  There was a pause.  “So, you’d be stayin’ with Trowa in his camper.”

“Yup.”

“Just… sleepin’?”

“Sleepin’ in our bed,” Duo confirmed.  Even if he didn’t feel comfortable being naked in my arms with his family so close, that was fine.  If I got to hold him as I fell asleep, that was more than fine.

Whatever Solo thought of that, he didn’t say.

Duo ventured, “You’re not gonna start hatin’ on me again if we take off for a bit to visit his momma, are you?  I haven’ met her yet.”

“Shit.  You really are goin’ all-out.  Just like a normal couple an’ everythin’.”

“Solo.  There’s nothin’ _abnormal_ about Trowa an’ me.”

And that single conviction was why Duo wasn’t going to succumb to the same darkness that had taken his mother.  He’d taken a step back from small-town life and broadened his horizons.  He had confidence in his own view of the world and its workings.  And in himself.  He really did possess the strength he’d been seeking.  From the back of a bull to the circle of my arms, somewhere and sometime in all that, Duo had learned that there wasn’t a single thing wrong with him.  And he wasn’t going to let anyone — not even his own brother — get away with telling him different.

“Say what?”  Solo’s confusion was thankfully brief.  “Oh.  Yeah, I didn’ mean—uh.”

“Just shut up.  D’you wanna see Rascal while you’re here ‘r what?”

“Yeah.  Get her out for me?”

“You got it.”

I was very quiet as I gathered up the blanket and bottle and descended the hayloft ladder.  As Duo led the dun-colored mare out of her stall — and Solo had his back to me — I scooted toward the barn door.  It was still open.  Hilde was leaning against the wall outside.

“Coffee?” she asked softly.

“God, yes.”

Daniel and Helen pulled up in the pickup truck before Solo and Duo came back from the barn.  Hilde and I were sitting at the kitchen table going on our second pot of coffee and she was just telling me that Solo had taken up wood-carving during his convalescence when the front door opened.

“Ask to see his collection of wooden shot glasses,” she told me, lowering her voice.  “He sells them downtown in those swanky shops.”

I was impressed that he’d thought to relieve the rich newcomers of a few bucks.  “How much?” I murmured.

“One-fifty each,” she confided with a wink and I realized she was talking triple digits.  No decimal point.

“Those Maxwell boys,” I remarked.

She offered a Cheshire Cat smile.

Helen came into the kitchen just in time to catch my comment.  “Oh, no.  What have they gotten into now?”

“Just the barn,” Hilde answered literally enough to make me choke on a chuckle.

Daniel Maxwell turned around and headed back out the door without a word.

Helen went to the window to check and see if the barn was still standing.  We waited as Daniel, presumably, proceeded to investigate…

And then he came right back to the house.

“They’re all right,” he reported, a faint smile framing the words and I realized that the man genuinely cared about them both.

Helen let out a long breath and leaned back against the kitchen counter.  “Well, it took ‘em long enough!”

I’d suspected this: neither Helen nor, perhaps, Daniel knew what had caused the most recent rift between Solo and Duo.  What good would come from disclosing the painful details to them now?  None.  Though people often say that the truth will set you free, what this family needed was a little silent glue to hold it together.

Hilde and I shared a look and kept our silence.

A few days later, the intermittent snow and ice finally stopped.  The sun came out and was expected to shine for the next four days.  After another long day of hauling hay out to the field for the hungry cattle, Duo announced that he and I would be looking in on some friends.  Hilde and Helen agreed to give Daniel a hand if he needed it.  We threw our things in the camper and headed out after lunch.

We could have driven straight through to Gillette, Wyoming where my mother lived, but we stopped at a motel outside of Billings.

The door closed behind us and I reached for Duo.  I had no words for how much I’d missed him and I had no interest in trying to think of something to say when there were places on his body that I hadn’t seen or touched or kissed in ten days.  We landed on the bed and didn’t leave it until nine o’clock the next morning.

I was still smiling as I turned onto the drive of my stepfather’s ranch.

“Knock it off,” Duo muttered through a fat grin of his own.  “You’re glowin’.”

“I’m _afterglowing,”_ I corrected.

He groaned.  “Damn it.  So am I.”

“I guess that guy with the camper made good on the ride he promised you.”

Duo barked out a laugh.  “Oh, sunshine.  The things he did to me last night—”

“And you did to him this morning.”

“—are deservin’ of an award.”

“Would you settle for an encore performance?”

“I’m settlin’ for nothin’, mister.  I _demand_  an encore.”

“We stay two nights,” I negotiated, “leave after lunch and check-in before six.”

“Deal.”

Thirty minutes after meeting Duo, my mother pulled me aside and ordered me to keep him.

“Great minds think alike,” I told her.

Duo, being from a ranching family, easily finagled a tour of the farm out of its proud owner, Jake Noventa.  I invited myself along, not just for the sake of spending time with Duo but also for the chance to become more informed about his world and family business.

It was the business, in particular, that he focused on when we returned to Bozeman.

“Sir,” he said one evening to his grandfather, “when you have time, I’d like to talk to you about the ranch.”

“Taxes?”

“No, sir.  That’s taken care of.”

“All right.  After dinner tomorrow night.”

They were in the office for an hour.  The next afternoon, they drove into town to have a contract drawn up.  Daniel Maxwell was leasing thirty acres to Duo for the next five years.

“An’ I can do anything I want with ‘em,” he confided over coffee and pie at the diner in town.

“What are your plans?”

He told me:

A cabin.  A herd of alpaca.  Ostrich runs.  And elk.

And that was what we did.

The elk were popular with the nouveau riche of Bozeman, who paid Duo a ridiculous amount of money to let them shoot one of the animals for sport.  (Or, more often than not, have Duo shoot it for them.)  The local taxidermist was thrilled with the business and a newly-opened gourmet restaurant bought the meat.

The same restaurant also took the ostrich meat off our hands, paying twenty-five dollars a pound for it.  They even served whiskey in hand-carved wooden cups made by a local man, Solo Maxwell.  The ostrich leather and feathers went to fashion designers and the like.

The alpaca wool brought in as much as both other ventures combined.  At the end of those five years, Duo’s relatively small plot of land had out-earned his grandfather’s rambling ranch and kept them from borrowing against the house yet again.

However, it was the cabin that was my personal favorite.  It was small — just four rooms — with an entryway for boots, hats, and Carhartts.  There were three doors off of the combined living room and kitchen.  The door in the middle led to the bathroom.  The other two led to bedrooms.  We furnished both, but only ever used one.  Which was fine.  Daniel didn’t ask and Helen didn’t say anything.

Just like no one said anything when our twice-monthly trips to “look in on friends” suddenly came to a stop.  Duo and I were more than happy to bid farewell to lust-filled nights spent on cheap motel beds.  We were a little less enthusiastic about saying good-bye to our quiet cuddles on the lumpy mattress in my camper, but that was fine.  For the first time, Duo and I had a real bed that was ours.  We wasted no time making the most of it.

The Black Angus cattle continued to roam Maxwell land.  And despite the late nights and early mornings during calving season and the long days of hard work the herd required (especially in between merciless winter storms), I knew Duo would never get rid of them.  They were part of the Maxwell family history.  And when Daniel realized that Duo understood that, he signed over the entire property to his grandsons.

Solo was finally able to walk without the leg braces shortly before his first daughter was born.  He was down to a single cane before the second arrived.  And he was able to gently dance his little boy to sleep in his arms without any assistance at all.

We had visitors from time to time.  My mother.  Cathy and Meiran.  Heero and Wufei.  The guys: Ralph, Chris, and Sal.  Sal, in particular, was impressed, turning around in a slow circle, taking in the crinkled valley.

“Where the hell is your Camaro?” Chris complained.

Ralph laughed.

Sal answered for me, “This is better.”

Yes.  Yes, it was.

 

(THIS IS NOT THE END.  ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a comment by Kangofu_CB on Part 13, I was prompted to add this to Duo and Solo’s dialog:  
> “You ain’t second,” Solo said with firm conviction. “You did what I couldn’t; saved this place after I fucked us over an’ no matter how ornery I get, it ain’t ‘cuz I’m mad at you. You know that, right?”  
> I hope you feel Hilde’s influence on Solo right there, because that’s my headcanon. (^_~)
> 
> My family has some experience raising exotic birds. A general rule of thumb that will keep you out of the hospital emergency room: ostriches are NOT pets. I have no experience with alpacas or elk, but a neighbor of ours had a herd of semi-domesticated deer that were for sale for "hunt" (which meant you could pay to shoot one and do whatever you liked with the carcass: butcher it and/or have it stuffed and mounted and/or get the hide tanned). 
> 
> A little silent glue. OK, I have something to say about this. I was once asked by a good friend if it would be a good idea to tell a family member about a long-ago, traumatic experience that was caused by another member of the family. (For example, should you tell your aunt that her brother, your uncle, had done or allowed something really bad to happen to you when you were much younger.) My advice was twofold: first and most importantly, do whatever you need to do in order to take care of yourself so that you can feel safe and you have a chance to move forward with your life; and second, keep in mind that your family will readily support you against outside threats, but when the culprit is another family member, it will cause everyone in your family to choose a side and this will form a rift that may never be fully healed. They say that the truth will set you free, but when it comes to confronting people in your own family over their mistakes and transgressions, it’s a lot more complicated than that.
> 
> If you, dear fandom friend, are reading this and facing a similar conundrum, please understand -- I’m not trying to talk you out of raising the issue. I’m not saying that you should be silent. In fact, you should not continue to keep a secret if doing so is hurting you. What I’m saying is that there will be consequences. Prepare yourself. Be strong. Do what you need to do in order for you to be OK. Gather your friends close and gather your courage. It’s your choice to speak out or not -- IT IS YOUR CHOICE. You have power and control over that. Respect it and embrace it. No matter what has happened in the past, how you deal with it is your choice and no one can take that away from you. Even if you feel powerless, you’re not. If you’re in an inescapable situation, reach out as soon as you safely can and ask for help. It is your right to make choices about your own life. Whether you choose to exercise that right or not, you still have that power.


	18. Maxwells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music rec by Manny:  
> “Merry-Go-Round” by Antje Duvekot at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HF1Wz4qc7fo
> 
> Music rec by Tanuki02:  
> "Just Breathe" by Willie Nelson at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ow-Cx9IX4So  
> (There's also a version by Pearl Jam, but Tanuki02 (of LiveJournal) recommends this one. The video is lovely!) 
> 
> WARNINGS: smut, character death (NOT Duo or Trowa!)

 

“Uncle Trowa?”

“Yes?”  I kept a close eye on the alpacas as my nephew, Solo Jr. — also known as “Han” for obvious Star Wars reasons — poured the feed into their trough.  The herd was pretty tame — Duo and I had raised all of these quirky creatures ourselves and they knew better than to riot at feeding time — so as long as one of us was with him, our eight-year-old nephew was welcome to help out.

The ostriches were another story.  An off-limits story.  A hockey-gear kind of story.

“Are you ‘r Uncle Duo ever gonna have kids?”

My brain stuttered.  Well.  I should have expected something like this from the lack of whine in his voice… which usually preceded a round of begging that we skip feeding time and go do cartwheels and somersaults in the yard instead.  Or maybe walk on the low tightrope that I strung up during the summer months.  Our niece, Alice, was particularly good at that, much to her father’s horror.

But Hilde would just smile and call out, “Try not to land on your head, sweetie!”

I guess she figured that any other injury would be more or less fixable with a little time and physical therapy.

“Why do you ask?” I replied, ushering him out of the paddock and letting the alpacas dig in.

“Well, Jimmy an’ Brian—”  Han’s best friends from school.  “—have got brothers an’ cousins, an’ all I got are sisters.”

“Cousins can be girls, too,” I reminded him, thinking of Cathy.

Han rolled his eyes.  “I know that.  I jus’ wish…”  He sighed.  “How come you an’ Uncle Duo are both boys?  You need a girl for babies,” he very sternly educated me.

Oh, God.  I was not going to laugh.  I bit my lip and nodded.  “You’re right.”

“So?” he prompted.  “How come y’all live together an’ stuff if you can’t have any kids?”

I cleared my throat.  “Your Uncle Duo is my best friend.  And I want to help him every day.  That’s why we live together.”

Han’s brow wrinkled in thought.  “So… someday I could live with Jimmy an’ Brian?”

“You might want to pick just one, in that case,” I muttered.

“Huh?”

“Han,” I said, “your Uncle Duo and I live together like your mom and dad live together.  We’re family.”

“Jus’ two people is kinda small for a family.”

Which I guess was the point he was trying to make.

I sighed and gestured him through the stables to sit down on a bale of straw just inside the open door.  “OK, it’s like this,” I began, trying to give him a concrete example to identify with.  “You know how your mom and dad take you and your sisters to the diner in town for lunch after church?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does your mom let you have pie?”

“Sometimes.”

Thank God.  “Have you seen the pie menu?”

“Yup.”

“How many different kinds of pie are on there?”

“Lots and lots.”

“Right.  And how many pieces can you eat?”

“Uncle Trowa, I could eat ‘em all!”  He obligingly mimed this particular boast, shoveling handfuls of empty air into his open mouth and chewing with puffed-out cheeks.

I chuckled at his enthusiasm.  “But how many does your mom let you have?”

“Just one.”

“Do you know why?”

“’Cuz I’d explode— _ka-bloosh!”_

I ruffled his dark hair.  Short and untidy, just like his mother’s.  “But just one piece of pie—that’s just right.”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, your Uncle Duo is my pie.  Out of all the people that are out there — and there are a lot — I picked one.”

Han considered that as he tugged at errant straws, trying to find a loose one.

I waited.

Real quietly, he asked, “Don’ you love ‘im?”

“I sure do.”

He grinned and damned if it wasn’t a mirror image of Duo’s.  Han had the Maxwell blue eyes and someday this boy was going to break hearts the way Duo constantly broke mine open and filled it with even more love.

“You love ‘im more ‘n blueberry pie with vanilla ice cream on top?”

“A lot more.”

He told me very frankly, “That’s a lot.”

“Yes, it is.  So.  I’m sorry, kiddo, but you’re not going to be getting any cousins for Christmas.”

He sighed.  “Bummer.”

I nudged him in the side with my elbow.  “But you have this really cool uncle who showed you how to do a handstand last week.”

He giggled and swayed on the bale until his shoulder bumped my arm.  “Yup.  He sure did!”

“Well, lemme see.”

Han lurched to the ground and ran outside.  Something he noticed out of the corner of his eye made him twist, mid-sprint, and call out, “Hey, Uncle Duo!”

My eyes narrowed.  I stood up and poked my head around the edge of the open door.  Duo was leaning against the side of the small barn, hip cocked with one boot crossed over the other, thumbs hooked in his jean pockets.  Smirking at me from under his hat.

I goggled.  Then I glared.  “No Reese’s Pieces for you.”

“That’s no fair.  Seein’ as how you got yourself a sweetie pie.”

“Whose name is ‘Mud’.”

“Trowa…” he finagled.

I fought back: “Duo…”

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

“It had better be good.”

“Oh, I will be.”  He winked.  He smiled.  He God damn dimpled at me.

“Are you watchin’, Uncle Trowa?” Han called.

I gave Duo a hot look and headed over to the flat patch of grass.  The least I could after requesting to see this handstand was make sure Solo Jr. didn’t land on his head.  Too hard.

After a ten-minute lesson in handstands and three tries at tight rope walking, I took Han back home.

“Did you help Uncle Trowa?” Hilde asked her son as he ducked through the open door and under her arm.

“Yup!” he said.

Helen smiled at him from the kitchen archway.  “Go wash up for supper, darlin’.”

Han tumbled his boots off and dashed for the bathroom.

Solo was sitting at the dining room table with their oldest, Laura, checking her homework.  Fragrant things were cooking on the stove and I could just hear the rumble of Daniel’s voice through the open door as he coached Alice through the 500-piece jigsaw puzzle they’d started on the living room coffee table last weekend.

“Trowa?  Everything OK?” Hilde checked as Han stampeded up the stairs.

I thought about warning her but, in the end, I just nodded and wished them a good night.

She could deal with Han’s version of the Pie Talk all on her own.

Though neither Duo nor I were much good in the kitchen, we preferred the quiet of our place to the barely-controlled chaos at the house.  We’d go over for dinner on Sundays and for holidays, but that was about it.

I pulled up and parked our truck.  Got out.  Headed inside.  Duo was just slapping the finishing touches on a couple of impressively layered sandwiches.

“Marshmallows and Reese’s Pieces on white?” I guessed, heading for the fridge and a couple of beers.

Duo snorted.  “’course not.  That’s for dessert.”

I leaned over and kissed him, our tongues brushing in an arousing slide.

“Hmm,” he approved.

“Porch?” I guessed, voice husky.

He nodded.

We slouched in the pair of folding camp chairs.  The beer and sandwich plates clattered on the small table between his elbow and mine.

The porch faced the west; we had a perfect view of the sunset as we ate.

“Helen’s roast beef?” I asked of the first bite.

“An’ some Provolone.”

Plus cucumbers, tomatoes, and a mess of coleslaw.  There may have been a slathering of warm refried beans sticking the beef to the bread.  Jesus.  No one made sandwiches like Duo Maxwell, that was for sure.

“D’you want kids?”

I stopped, mid-chew, and slid my gaze in Duo’s direction.  I swallowed and confessed, “Yes.  I want all your babies.  Take me to bed.”

He chuckled.  “Right this minute?”

I pretended to think about it.  “Can I finish my beer first?”

He kicked my foot.  It would have been a more impressive display if we’d been wearing our boots.  As it was, the jab turned into a slow caress of his bare toes against mine.

We finished our sandwiches and were down to the last swallows of beer when Duo very softly said, “Han told me he heard from the kids at school about my bull ridin’.”

I set down my unfinished beer.  My throat was suddenly too tight for me to manage another swallow.  It was true that Duo was something of a local legend in that regard.  Somehow, it always managed to blindside me whenever it came up.

“An’ I realized,” he continued, “how lucky I am.”

That he’d lived through it.

Though I said nothing, he corrected me, “That you stuck with me through all of it.  Even though I was pret’near outta my mind that year.”

I looked over at him, surprised to see moisture shining in his eyes.

He told me, “I never thanked you for that.”

“I had a few close calls myself,” I admitted.  “That didn’t scare you off.”

“Naw,” he agreed.  “I was too far gone for that.”

I reached across the table and brushed my fingers over his cheek.  He smiled and leaned into it.

The Devil in me made me say, “So that’s why you never broke my face.”

He snorted.  “I missed one hell of an opportunity to kiss it all better, didn’ I?”

“You’d better kiss it, regardless,” I informed him, standing up and collecting our dishes.  I downed the last inch of beer in the bottle as I angled my way back into the cabin.

“You get bossier every day.”

“And you love it.”  I set the dishes in the sink and my empty beer bottle on the counter.  Not two seconds later, Duo’s skidded over and the glass clinked.  His hands slid into the front pockets of my jeans.  His chest pressed against my back, his pelvis against my ass, his breath against the nape of my neck.

“I do,” he agreed.  “I love it when you boss me around.”  He rocked his growing erection against the seat-seam of my jeans.  On a hot whisper, he quoted me, “Deeper—harder—yes, right there—fuck—me—”

I turned but he was already moving toward the bathroom for a shower, walking backwards, keeping his hot gaze on me.  He grinned and I knew we weren’t going to be staying up to watch the news tonight.  The door snicked shut behind him.  I swept the front porch.  Closed the blinds and curtains.  Locked the front door.  Made a shopping list.

Ten minutes later, when the bathroom door opened and I heard his footsteps, I didn’t turn around.  I let myself burn, imagining all that bare skin and hard muscle.  His hard cock.  The bedroom door shut behind him and I took my turn in the shower.

Naked and still dripping water from my back and legs, I headed for the bedroom.  The down comforter and top sheet had been tossed over the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and there was a clean bath towel laid out over the fitted sheet on the mattress.

Duo was lounging against the headboard, still naked, turning a bottle of lube over in his hands.  “C’mere,” he said.

I arched a brow.  “Now who’s bossy?”

“I am,” he bragged with a wide grin, “an’ you’re gonna love every minute of it.”

He pulled me in for a kiss, his cock nudging at my balls as I sat in his lap and his tongue petted mine in slow, hot strokes.  I pressed my palms to his chest and he trailed his fingers over my hips, coaxing me to rock gently against him, teasing my arousal against his skin.  Then he got a firm grip on my ass, spreading the cheeks and a single finger brushed my entrance.

My spine arched, carrying the motion all the way up my neck and into the back of my skull.  I broke the kiss on a whimper.

He slid out from under me and pressed a hand against my back.  “Lie down,” he murmured and I did.  A moment later, slick fingers were gliding up the inside of my thigh and I spread my legs, moaning at the slow massage against my perineum.  Panting as his thumb swirled against my opening.  I bore down, wiggled, widened my thighs even more and—yes, this!—his was sliding in, rubbing me inside and out with one very talented hand.

“God—God—God—Duo—!”  I rocked against the terrycloth on the bed, seeking friction against my cock.

But then his touch retreated.  I mewled, shameless.

“Two now,” he warned and I was ready for it, rotating my hips against his fingers.  Loving it, wanting it, needing it—

“Trowa,” he breathed.  “You are so beautiful.  An’ sexy.  One o’ these days, I really am gonna come just by watchin’ you ride my fingers.”

The terrycloth was doing shit for my hardened nipples and heavy cock.  “Not today.  Your cock has ah—!”  Oh, God.  When he swirled his fingers like that—!  “—has a previous engagement.”

“Yes, it does.”  He stretched me, teased me, and my hips lifted to follow him as he withdrew, but then he was moving over me, his lower belly against my ass and I groaned as his cock slid in.  Slowly.  So slowly.  So hard and slick and hot and perfect.

I shifted to widen my legs, but Duo whispered, “No, not like that.”

He nudged my legs shut, straddled me, and slid one arm under my hips, angling my ass up and—

“Fuck me!”

He flexed his hips again and I saw stars.  The head of his cock was kissing, rubbing, stroking over me in the best place, in the best way, and I was mindless as he rode me, pulling me into the cradle of his hips in a rhythm that was slow and relentless.  My cock dragged against the terrycloth.  My chest rubbed against the fabric with every thrust.

“I’m gonna come inside you jus’ like this,” Duo informed me and I clawed at the sheets, already imagining it.  “When you’re ready for it, tighten down on me.”

Oh.  Ah.  Oh, God.  How much of this could I take before I lost my mind?  Over the years, Duo’s stamina in bed had grown.  I knew he could wait me out if he wanted to.

“What’s next?” I panted, trying to focus through the explosions of heat and blood-tingling pleasure.

“Next, I’m gonna have you in me, an’ I’m gonna ride you ‘til you come.”

Sweet Jesus.  “Ah-hah-fuck—damn it Duo, faster!”

He complied and I clenched around him and suddenly he was the one swearing and groaning and fucking me harder-faster and I was on the edge—surrounded by searing white heat and I was tasting the hint of release on my tongue, but it was just out of reach—

“A-ahh!  Trowa!  I’m—makin’ you—mine,” he stuttered and pressed as deep as he could reach inside me and came and came and came.

His arms released my hips and he sat back, withdrawing from me.  He was panting and I was so aroused I could scream.  He used a soft towel to wipe off the lube and traces of his release from my cleft.

“Roll over,” he directed.

I did.  And I watched as he reached for the lubricant again.  I took it from him, gestured him closer until he was straddling my waist.  I slicked my fingers and reached between his thighs.  A firm massage, a single digit, then two and he was moaning and rolling his hips over my hand, his tongue caught between his teeth and lips, his lashes fanning against his cheeks as he closed his eyes and gave in to it.  Little by little, his cock swelled.

I pulled him forward until he was crouching low over me and I kissed him softly as I massaged him deep and he whined.  He begged — “Please.”  He rambled — “So so damn good.”  He insisted — “I’m good.  I’m ready.  Lemme ride you.  Now now now.”

My hand retreated and he scooted back.  Face flushed and arousal bobbing in time with his pulse, he slathered cool lubricant on my heated length and then sat back — slowly — on my cock.

Oh, fuck me he was so hot and tight and I bucked up sharply.  His head snapped back and his hips thrust forward, taking me in as deep as I could go.  I reached for his right hand.  His left went behind him to brace against my thigh and then I was flexing my hips up and up and up and he was moving with me, riding me, letting me set the pace.  His spine arched and his chin tilted down and to the side, his lips open and wet as he panted hard.

How I wished I could do this all day.  Watch him surrender to me.  Watch his arousal build until he opened his eyes — yes, like that — and showed me glassy, unfocused pools of mindless need.

“Hands,” he moaned and I gripped his hips, pulling him toward me with every thrust, pressing against him just—

“So fucking—right there—ah-hah-hah—Tr-Trowa!”

I could come in him like this.  Just like this.  But he was so hard and beautiful and mine that I needed—

“Come for me,” I panted out.

His fingers wrapped around his cock and he fisted himself as he rode me, his hips thrusting between my hands over and over and over.

Our gazes met.  “Come for me, love.”

His eyes widened, unfocused.  He whimpered once before his breath caught in his chest and then his body was tightening around my cock and I was fucking him—up into him—into him—into him—and hot splashes hit my chest—and I yanked him down tight against my body as I pounded up-up-up-up!

And came.  Pulsing again and again and again deep inside him.  My hands smoothed up his back and the one that hadn’t been slick and deep inside him shifted up to cradle his face, guide him down to me so that I could kiss his slack lips and drink in his dreamy expression.

His braid slid over his shoulder and flopped next to my arm.  I kissed him softly and simply.  Nibbled his jaw and neck.  I slid out of him and he slumped next to me on the covered bed.  I grabbed another hand towel and he opened his thighs for me so that I could clear away some of the mess.  I tended to myself and then I found myself looking into his eyes.

He smiled.  Dimpled.

I braced myself.

“You gonna let me have some Reese’s Pieces now?”

I tried to summon an indignant expression.  “After you made me do half the work?”

“I shoulda worn my chaps, huh?”

I let out a belabored sigh.  “Sure.  I let you wear chaps and then out come the spurs and the lasso and then there’ll be no telling what kind of trouble you’ll get into.”

His grin stretched wider.  “So that’s a ‘yes’ to the chaps.”

I rolled my eyes.  “That’s a ‘hell yes.’”

We laughed.  We kissed.  We showered together.  We slept.

The seasons passed.  The ranch prospered.  Enough that Solo and Hilde were able to start college funds for their three children.

I would freely admit that our daily routine was boring and often times hard work, but it was predictable and — to a certain extent — comfortable.  Whatever surprises or excitement that came up in ranching were rarely good ones: a tractor that wouldn’t start, a late hay delivery, a price hike in feed, a sick animal.

Somehow, Duo and I were lucky enough that our living arrangement was never called into question.  In fact, Daniel never said a word about it.  The closest he would come to acknowledging us as couple was when he’d spare us a private moment at Thanksgiving to say, “You both did real well this year.”

“Thank you, sir,” I’d say and Duo would wait until his grandfather turned away before pulling my chair out for me.

Daniel Maxwell passed away when he was eighty-two years old.  Helen cried the hardest, but not for the reason I’d expected.

“I can finally tell y’all about your momma,” she confessed and I realized that she’d been holding onto her secret, her shame, her regret for years.

Duo and Solo forgave her.

The next day, she came to the cabin to visit me and Duo, saying, “I asked Pastor Walker years ago, back when you first came to stay with us, Trowa, an’ he said that God jus’ wants us to love each other.  An’ you do.  You two love each other.  I’m not gonna argue with what God wants.”

Our oldest niece, Laura, went on to become a veterinarian — of small animals, mostly — and bought herself a house outside of St. Paul, Minnesota.  Alice studied business and animal husbandry.  She eventually came back home to help run the ranch after she’d gone to work at a cattle farm in Kobe, Japan for a year.  Kobe was famous for producing some of the best beef in the world, and she was convinced that was going to be the next big thing in the U.S. market.  Solo Jr. spent almost ten years with the Park Service as a fire fighter until he decided to go back to school to become a nurse, requesting to work in the burn unit at the hospital in Helena.

Somewhere in there, Relena Darlian-Winner was elected governor of Montana.  She pushed a bill through the state legislature that legalized same-sex marriage.

Duo and I had already drawn up power-of-attorney papers for each other and named each other in our wills, but when Duo and I heard the news on TV, I wasn’t surprised when he immediately grabbed my hand and his hat, hauled me outside and over to the decrepit camper that no longer ran, and sat me down on the collapsible steps.

He smiled down at me and I grinned up at him.

“Duo Maxwell.  Marry me?” I asked.

“Try and stop me,” he dared.

I chuckled at that: there was no one in the world who could stop Duo Maxwell from following through when he set his mind to something.  He was who he was and nobody would ever change that.

He slid onto my lap, straddling my thighs, and I ducked beneath his hat to kiss him.  Soft and thorough, pulling back with a brush of my sensitized lips against his.

“Trowa Barton,” he breathed, “I’m looking real forward to…”

I waited.  Quirked a brow.  Took a guess, “Finally making an honest man out of me?”

He smiled.  He dimpled.  He corrected me softly, “You.  Just you.  For the rest of our lives.”

 

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 18 opens in 2005. Duo and Trowa are in their late 30s. Plenty of time to figure out all the sexy things that they each (and both) like!
> 
> Daniel Maxwell was was born in 1924, which would put his military service (as a young man) during World War II. And then, just as his daughters had become adults, he lived through the controversy and pain of the Vietnam War. (I can’t imagine how galling it would have been to deal with the protests and general scorn for the military when Daniel had given so much to his country and young men like his would-be son-in-law were giving their lives overseas.) So, he’s had a hard life. The mistakes he made with his daughter (Duo and Solo’s mother, who I think of as “Diana,” in keeping with the Greek origin of the name “Helen” as a theme) taught him to pick his battles. Daniel probably wouldn’t ever be able to openly accept Trowa as Duo’s life partner, but as they don’t force him to think about it, he reciprocates by not butting into their business. Daniel passes away about a year after Solo Jr. complains to his Uncle Trowa about not having any brothers or male cousins.
> 
> Helen waits until her father passes away to talk about the boys' mother not because she's afraid of Daniel. Lemme just be clear about that. When Daniel passes away, she finds herself the only survivor of a terrible secret and she (very bravely, I think) reaches out to her nephews for forgiveness and support.
> 
> Star Wars made its theatrical debut in 1977. Solo (Sr.) would have been 10 years old at the time. Poor kid. At least Han Solo was played by Harrison Ford, so the "namesake" could have been a lot worse!
> 
> Unfortunately, there was no clear champion for the legalization of same-sex marriage in the state of Montana (or Wyoming, where Trowa’s mom (I call her “Arianna”) lives). In 2014, the U.S. federal court ruled Montana’s ban (and Wyoming’s, for that matter) on same-sex marriage unconstitutional. Duo and Trowa would have been in their late 40s at that time. There’s the saying “better late than never,” but that doesn’t make me feel any less violent over the unfairness of the long wait.
> 
> As of this story, I still have not visited Kobe, Japan, but it is very famous for beef. (If you look up some photos of raw Kobe beef, you’ll probably be able to see the difference between it and U.S. or Australian beef pretty clearly. Basically, Kobe beef has thin veins of fat running through the meat rather than concentrated on the outside of it. This makes it very tender.) The popularity of Kobe beef is such that a lot of rural Japanese ranching communities are trying to emulate its success to entice tourism. Japanese people will travel far and wide for good food. It’s one of the reasons I love this country: kindred foodies.
> 
> And now, dear fandom friend, I hope you'll leave a comment and let me know what you liked about Rodeo & Ranch. It would mean so much to me!
> 
> Rodeo and/or Ranching GW fics for further reading:
> 
> Cowboy by ShenLong at http://archiveofourown.org/works/5044951
> 
> Dusty Roads by DeathAngel at http://deathangelsden.angelfire.com/dusty-roads-1.html
> 
> If you know of any others, do share!


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